From Wardens to Royalty
by daydreamsonacloudyday
Summary: Various oneshots/drabbles about my Warden, Isabel Cousland, and Alistair.
1. Uncertainty

**Uncertainty**

* * *

Five days of sleeping—not sleeping, _having nightmares_—on the cold, hard ground and they'd finally gotten tents. Isabel could finally attempt to sleep in the comforts of a measly shelter instead of out in the open in the freezing Wilds. If only she could figure out how to_build_ the tent.

After her third attempt, she gave up, stomping her foot into the ground and groaning in complete and utter frustration. She attracted the attention of the Qunari and the lay sister they'd recruited earlier that day, and she glared at them until they got back to their own business.

Isabel looked down at her tent, biting her lip and blinking back tears. She should be back_home_, tucked under the covers of her own warm bed instead of some stupid bedroll in a tent she couldn't even build. She should have a belly full of Nan's delicious cooking instead of being so _hungry_ all the time. She should be able to take a hot bath instead of being covered in such _filth_. She should be able to wake up from the inevitable nightmare she was going to have and find comfort in her family, instead of waking up alone, remembering that she didn't _have_ a family anymore.

"Do you need help?"

At the sound of Alistair's voice she sniffled, wiping away the few tears that escaped her eyes. She met his gaze and nodded, and without another word he got to work, setting up her tent for her. Isabel tried to pay attention to what he was doing, but she found herself watching him instead, intrigued by the way he seemed to focus so much on something that seemed so simple. When he finished, he stood next to her, admiring his handiwork.

"Thank you," she muttered.

"You're welcome," he replied. "It's not so hard once you get the hang of it."

She huffed. "I'm never going to get the hang of it."

"With some practice—"

"You don't get it," she snapped. "I'm not cut out for this." Her anger dissipated, leaving her with her grief again. "I'm not supposed to be here. This wasn't supposed to happen," she said, starting to sob. She ducked into her tent and pulled her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and burying her face between her knees and her chest.

"Isabel?" Alistair called out.

"Go away."

He poked his head through the flaps of her tent. "Please?" She sighed and rolled her eyes, before giving him permission to come in. He sat beside her, and she sniffled, turning to face him. "For what it's worth, I think you're cut out for this. You got us this far," he pointed out, and she shook her head.

"_Morrigan_ got us this far. Or did you forget that she was the one who got us out of the Wilds?" she said. Alistair bristled at the mention of Morrigan, and she snorted a laugh. They _really_ didn't get along, at all. Isabel sighed, getting serious again. "Look, I appreciate the fact that you think I can handle this, but I can't. Fancy parties I can do, but this? Being a Grey Warden? Stopping an entire Blight?" She shook her head, looking away from his amber gaze. "It's too much for one person."

"Well, you're not alone," Alistair stated. "You've got a hulking, murderous Qunari, a lay sister who actually can fight and claims she's had visions of the Maker, a mean, nasty swamp witch, and your lovable mabari at your back." She met his eyes again and he smiled lopsidedly at her, shrugging his shoulders. "And you have me. I know I'm not much compared to our other esteemed companions, but I'm here. If you need me."

Isabel forced herself to smile. "Thank you, Alistair."

"I mean it, Isabel," he muttered. "I promise I won't lose it again. We can do this."

She almost believed him.


	2. Safe

**Safe**

This takes place shortly after Broken Circle, which goes a little differently for Isabel and Alistair than it does in-game (she sees her family and their subsequent murder, and he sees the Wardens at Ostagar before they all die). Relationship-wise, they're not together yet, though Alistair already has feelings for Isabel. She's almost there, which is something new to her since she's only had actual feelings for someone _once_ before Alistair.

* * *

Isabel wakes with a start, covered in a cold sweat, her heart beating fast in her ears. Her chest constricts painfully, her vision swimming as she struggles for air. Reaching out to Bear beside her, she threads her fingers through the sleeping mabari's fur, desperate for something solid and _real_ to hold onto while she tries to calm herself.

_Just breathe_, she thinks to herself, trying so hard not to focus on the remnants of the nightmare still lingering in her mind, the murder of her family twisted into an even worse horror than her actual memories of it. She is there again, screams piercing her ears, smoke suffocating her lungs as her home burns around her, puddles of crimson blood filling her vision…

Her heartbeat thrums louder in her ears, beating even faster now, her lungs burning as she gasps for air. Throwing her blanket off, she rushes outside her tent, hoping the cool night air and a change of scenery will help. She barely makes it out of her tent before almost walking into someone, stopping herself just before impact.

It's Alistair, his hand coming up to cover his mouth as he yawns.

"Sorry," he mumbles, rubbing his eyes before blinking rapidly. When he finally focuses on her, he snaps awake, his brows drawn together in concern. "Maker, Isabel, you're shaking," he breathes, his hands reaching for her arms wrapped around herself. "What happened? Are you okay?" His fingertips ghost over her arms as he steps closer, his eyes searching her face.

Still hyperventilating, Isabel tries to answer, but all she can muster up is a choked sob as tears began to well in her eyes.

Almost immediately, Alistair pulls her against his chest, hugging her tight. Isabel begins to cry in earnest as she grasps onto his shirt, burying her face in the crook of his neck as her chest heaves uncontrollably.

In time, her focus shifts from her nightmare to the feeling of Alistair's fingertips brushing against her scalp as he runs his hand through her hair, the strands gently tugging on her head as he passes through them. His hand continues its journey south as he rubs her back, and then back up to her hair as he begins again, the soothing hum of his voice as he whispers to her filling her ears, replacing the shrieks from her nightmare. His other arm is securely wrapped around her waist, holding her close, his warm body pressed alongside hers, his scent drifting to her nose instead of the suffocating smoke from her memories.

When Isabel finally calms, breathing regularly once again, she knows she should pull back and thank Alistair for comforting her, but she doesn't want to. She feels so safe in his arms, like no nightmare or darkspawn or _anything _could ever hurt her, and she hasn't felt that way in a long time… too long. She's not about to give that up.

Instead, she slides her hands around him until she hugs him back, sniffling as she nestles against him even more. Alistair rests his head atop hers as his hand stills, joining the other in holding her close, his grip tightening around her the slightest bit. His steady, strong heartbeat and breaths lull her into a relaxed, sleepy state, and if she weren't still standing, she would have fallen back asleep right there.

It should have scared her, being so comfortable in the arms of someone she hasn't known for very long, but it doesn't. She wonders why, her fingers absently tracing shapes over Alistair's clothed back as her mind wanders. Emotions begin to tug at her heart, familiar yet foreign at the same time, and she begins to understand, a panic rising inside her at what it means. Abruptly, Isabel pulls back from his embrace, not daring to meet his gaze as she chews on her bottom lip.

"I'm sorry," Alistair says, forcing a laugh, "I should really ask before I grab you like that."

Isabel meets his gaze, and he's offering her an apologetic smile. There's a blush on his cheeks, and he's scratching the back of his neck, his gaze darting away before returning to hers. "It's fine," she whispers, feeling a hint of warmth rise to her face as she stares at him.

A tense silence grows between them, reminiscent of the moment of awkwardness that occurred after the first time they had hugged just a few days ago. It was a short, brief thing, born of relief after Isabel drew him from the horrible Fade dream he was in. She had barely hugged him back after her initial surprise before Alistair pulled back, stammering an apology just like he did now.

"Well, if you're feeling better, we should probably get some sleep," he finally says, breaking the silence between them. "Long day of traveling and all that…"

"Alistair, wait," she mutters, reaching for his arm before he can completely turn away from her. He faces her again, eyes locked onto where she touches him, and she jerks her hand back. He lifts his eyes to hers, waiting for her to speak.

"Will you… sleep with me?" she asks, her pulse momentarily spiking at her words. Whatever it is that she feels for him frightens her, but the thought of waking up to another nightmare is even more terrifying. If his hug chased her nightmare away before, surely his presence while she sleeps will do the same, despite anything else it may stir up inside her.

"Sleep with you, ah," Alistair starts, shifting on his feet, his hand twitching at his side. "I know most guys would probably leap at the chance to be with you, but… I don't know if I'm ready for that. It's a big step, and we're… well, we're not, um…" Isabel bites her lip, trying to suppress a smile as Alistair rubs his neck again, his eyes glued to his feet. "I must sound like an idiot," he continues, "I mean… turn down an incredible woman like you? I'd have to be." He meets her gaze, just as a grin spreads across her face, and he swallows hard, eyes wide. "Why are you smiling like that?"

"I meant actual _sleeping_," Isabel says, snorting a laugh. "You know, where we lay next to each other and close our eyes until we fall asleep?"

The color leaves his face as he stares at her, completely dumbstruck. A blush slowly creeps back into his cheeks and he opens and closes his mouth, struggling for words. "Of course," he clears his throat, "of course that's what you meant." He gulps, his eyes looking everywhere but at her. "Well, now that I handled that with my… usual deft brilliance, time to move on!"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed," Isabel says, smiling. "It was actually kind of cute."

Alistair quirks his eyebrow at her before a chuckle escapes him, his laugh slightly higher pitched than usual. "Just what every man wants to hear." He takes a deep breath and sighs, shrugging as he gave her a shy glance. "I guess I was raised not to take that sort of thing lightly."

"There's nothing wrong with that. I don't take such things lightly, either."

"Oh." Isabel smiles at him, and he returns it with a bashful smile of his own before his eyes grow wide and his brows arch upwards. "Did you still want me to sleep with—sleep next to—you?" he asks, unsure.

"If you're comfortable with that… I would very much appreciate it."

He nods. "I… I am."

After a quick breath of relief, Isabel leads him into her tent. She moves her bedroll away from Bear so they have room to fit side-by-side, and lies down on her back, Alistair lying beside her. She stares up into the darkness, very aware of how their arms touch. Momentarily closing her eyes, she sighs, and then she props herself up on one arm, biting her lip as she meets Alistair's questioning gaze.

"This isn't exactly comforting," she states.

"I, um… do you want me to leave?"

"No, it's not that, I just…" She releases a frustrated breath; Maker, she can't believe she's actually attempting to ask him to _cuddle_. "Would it be okay if I… rest my head on your chest?"

Alistair stares at her, blinking a few times before clearing his throat. "Of course… yes," he says with a nod, lifting his arm out of the way.

Isabel can feel his eyes on her as she rolls onto her side and slides a bit closer to him, then lowering her head to his chest, placing her hand beside her face. She shifts until her other arm is comfortable beneath her body, and when she's done positioning herself she exhales, her breath slightly unsteady. She feels Alistair's outstretched arm twitch beneath her before he finally wraps it around her shoulders, moving around a bit until he finds a decent position.

"Thank you," she whispers, her fingers unconsciously curling into his shirt. "My dreams have been worse ever since the Circle."

"Mine, too," he replies quietly, his voice rumbling in his chest. "And, uh, you're welcome."

She smiles to herself and her eyes flutter closed. They fall silent, his heartbeat thumping right next to her ear, the steady drumming sending her closer and closer to the edge of sleep. When she finally succumbs to the darkness, she's _safe_, almost like she used to feel back home, and not a single nightmare finds it way into her mind the rest of the night.


	3. Midnight Adventures

**Midnight Adventures**

* * *

Isabel awoke with a scream, covered in a cold sweat. Her heart was wildly thumping in her chest, her breaths frantic and uneven. Her nightmare had started with her reliving the bloody murders of her family, and then morphed into the horrors of the archdemon and the darkspawn. One without the other was a nightmare enough, but both together? She doubted she would sleep the rest of the night.

She could at least try to find comfort in Alistair's arms, so she crawled out of her bed and grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around her body. She opened her door and almost jumped when she found Alistair already standing there, his hand up and poised to knock.

"You dreamed of the archdemon as well?" she asked, a statement more than a question. He nodded, bringing his hand up to cup her face.

"And I heard you scream," he said with a frown. Isabel leaned into his touch, letting out a deep breath.

"My dream was more the archdemon interspersed between my family being murdered again and again," she muttered.

"Oh, Izzy," he sighed, pulling her into his embrace. She hugged the blanket tighter around herself and nestled her head in the crook of his neck. Alistair held her close, rubbing her back through the blanket to comfort her.

"I don't want to go back to sleep yet," she whispered, terrified of what she would see in her dreams.

He pressed a kiss to her hair. "Then let's go down to the larder. I know dinner was quite the feast, but I'm still hungry."

Isabel giggled; she would no doubt grow hungry once she was awake for a few more minutes, thanks to their Grey Warden appetite. "That sounds like a wonderful idea," she replied, pulling her head from his chest and offering him a small smile. Alistair flashed her that lopsided grin of his and pressed a quick kiss to her lips before they disentangled from each other. He took her hand and laced their fingers together as he led her through the passageways of the castle to the larder.

"Here we are, my lady," he said, opening the door for her. She giggled and stepped inside the larder, her stomach growling at the sight of all the food. Alistair's stomach growled in answer to hers, both of them bursting out in laughter. "I used to come here all the time as a boy," he said wistfully. "Back then I was too short to reach all the cheese." He plucked a wedge of cheese off of a shelf with a grin. Isabel rolled her eyes and grabbed some dried meats, while Alistair grabbed some bread.

He sat down on the floor, his back to the wall and his legs spread open, and she joined him, sitting between his legs, leaning back against his chest. He took her blanket and wrapped it around the both of them so they would stay warm while they ate.

Comfortable and content to be in his arms, Isabel began breaking off pieces of cheese, alternating from eating it herself and feeding it to Alistair over her shoulder. They stayed like that while they ate, and he told her stories of his escapades through the castle from when he was a boy. She even told a few stories of her and Fergus' adventures from when they were children, when she could speak of it without too much pain in her heart. When she had trouble finding her words, he would press little kisses to her neck, the gentle scrape of his beard a pleasant contrast to his soft lips. Those little kisses were a comfort, helping her get through the stories.

"Did you really lock yourself in the dungeon? For an entire day?" Isabel asked, remembering the comment he made when they first snuck into the castle a couple months prior.

He chuckled, his laugh rumbling through his chest so she could feel it against her back. "Yes, I actually did." He paused for a moment, his brow pulled down in thought before his expression softened and he shot her a mischievous smile. "Would you like to see the infamous cell?"

She looked up at him with a wry smile. "Of course."

They got up and quietly went down to the dungeon, their footsteps the only sound they made as they moved. Alistair directed her to a small cell, a pile of straw tossed into the corner. Isabel ran her fingers over the bars on the door as she stepped inside. She let out a short laugh and spun around to face him, giving him an amused smile.

"How exactly did you manage to lock yourself in here?" she asked, and he shook his head, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorway.

"It's easier than you think," he retorted, pushing himself off the wall. "There's a draft from the windmill entrance… I learned the hard way that it blows the cell doors shut from time to time."

"A draft, huh?" He nodded, moving closer to her, and her lips curled into a devious grin. "Is that why it's so chilly down here?" she asked, faking a shiver.

"Oh, the lovely lady is cold?" he replied, a lopsided smile on his face. "I'll have to fix that, I think."

"And how do you intend on doing _that_, Ser Warden?"

He chuckled before closing the distance between them and claiming her lips in a kiss. It started off slow, but they got lost in each other, and soon enough Isabel found her back pressed against the wall of the cell, Alistair's hard, strong body pinning her there. He started kissing her neck, nibbling on her sensitive collarbone, and in her distracted state she barely registered a faint creaking sound. She didn't realize what it meant until she heard a metallic_click_, and when she did, she pushed Alistair off of her and stared at the door to the cell, wide-eyed.

"What?" he asked, starting to turn around. "Did I—_Oh, Maker_." He groaned, scratching the back of his head. Oh, Maker was right. The cell door had shut, and now they were locked in the cell. "See? I told you there was a draft."

"This is bad," Isabel stated, trying to remain calm. She walked up to the door and grabbed the bars, shaking them and trying to get the door open.

"Let me try," Alistair suggested, and he did the same thing, also failing. "So… it seems we're stuck in here…"

"Andraste have mercy on me," she muttered. "We're such _fools_."

"I did warn you about the draft," he started with a shrug.

"Are you saying this is _my_ fault?" she asked incredulously.

"No! I just…" He scratched the back of his head again, nervously quirking an eyebrow at her. "You distracted me with your feminine wiles?"

Isabel shook her head and rolled her eyes. "It's not my fault you can't resist them."

"How could I? Have you seen yourself?"

She snorted a laugh, and he smiled. "Oh, yes, I'm quite the sight, all wrapped up in this blanket."

Alistair looped his arms around her, pulling her close. "It's a very flattering blanket," he started with a mischievous grin. "I think you should exchange it with your armor. All the darkspawn would fall at your feet from what a radiant sight you are. The Blight would be over in a matter of days." Isabel giggled and kissed him, enjoying the feel of his lips and his body pressed against her.

"Flattery will get you almost anywhere," she commented after they broke apart.

"Good to know." He glanced to the pile of straw in the corner of the cell and frowned. "I'm sorry, but we're going to be stuck here the rest of the night."

"I am _not_ sleeping in a dirty dungeon, Alistair," Isabel stated, sounding very much like the spoiled noble she was.

"What would you have me do, _my lady_?" he asked, mocking her haughty tone. She glared at him, and he sighed, tugging her towards the corner of the cell. "Just think… it can't be much worse than sleeping on the cold, hard ground of the Wilds. Which we did for almost a week, I might add."

"And do you remember how _horrible_ it was?" she retorted, practically whining. She stared at the measly bunch of straw in the corner of the cell with a grimace. She did _not_ want to know just how dirty the floor was.

"Yes, it was bad… but now we can cuddle and keep each other warm," Alistair pointed out. She met his gaze and sighed, shaking her head.

"Fine, but _you_ can lay down there first and _then_ I can lay on top of you."

"Yes, my lady," he replied with a mock bow, and she rolled her eyes again. Alistair pulled off his shirt and rolled it into a makeshift pillow, placing it under his head as he lay on his back on the straw. He moved around until he got comfortable enough, and then she joined him, cuddling up to his side and resting her head on his bare chest. She pulled the blanket over them, and he wrapped his arms around her, keeping her close.

"See, it's not _so_ bad," he said, shivering when she moved her hand across his chest to hold him. "It's hard to complain when I have a beautiful woman in my arms."

"All right, you win with that one," she murmured, smiling to herself. She pressed a kiss right over his heart and she stifled a giggle when he breathed in sharply. "Goodnight, Ali."

"Night, Isabel." He kissed the top of her head and she let out a content sigh, the sound of his heartbeat eventually lulling her to sleep.

…

Since there was no natural light in the dungeon, Isabel didn't wake up on her own, sleeping until she heard voices and a rusty creaking sound. She fluttered her eyes open and lifted her head off Alistair's chest, craning her neck to see what was going on. Her sleepy gaze first fell upon a serving girl, then an amused Bann Teagan, and finally an _unamused_ Arl Eamon. The look on the arl's face and the sight of his arms crossed over his chest instantly snapped any drowsiness out of her system, and she bolted upright, wide awake. She reached over and pinched Alistair, _hard_, and he jerked awake, too.

"Ow!" he groaned, sitting up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Isabel grasped his arm and held it tightly, not taking her eyes away from their little audience just outside of the cell. "What the—" He instantly shut his mouth upon realizing what was going on, a blush creeping onto his cheeks as he nervously scratched the back of his head. "This is not what it looks like," he said quickly, just making them look _more_ guilty.

"And what exactly does it look like?" Eamon asked, still unpleased.

"Two Wardens accidentally locking themselves in a cell and spending the night on the cold, hard ground? _Sleeping_ of course…" Alistair started. "It's really not hard to lock yourself in one of these, Maker knows I've done it before…"

Eamon didn't seem to appreciate his joking tone and frowned. "Yes, I remember," the arl stated. "You two should prepare for your journey to Orzammar. You don't have time to waste."

"Yes, my lord," Alistair said, quickly getting up. He pulled Isabel up with him, wrapping the blanket around her and grabbing her hand, ready to scurry out of the dungeon.

"Alistair."

"Yeees?" he asked, whirling back around to face Eamon.

"You forgot your _shirt_."

He muttered a curse under his breath and grabbed it, throwing it on over his head. He grabbed Isabel's hand again and quickly led her out of the dungeon. As soon as they were alone, she let out a stream of laughter.

"It's not funny," he stated, clearly still embarrassed. She stopped him and pulled him into a tender kiss, giving him a small smile.

"Does it really matter that they found us like that?"

"Half naked and cuddled together?" he asked. "Yes!"

"We weren't doing anything bad," she stated. "I've found myself in much more compromising positions and they worked out fine. They'll forget about it once we leave, trust me."

"If you say so," he said with a huff. She placed her hand on his face and he leaned into the touch. He brought his hand over hers and then kissed her palm before lacing their fingers together. Alistair narrowed his eyes, quirking an eyebrow at her. "What sort of compromising positions are you talking about?" he asked. Before she could answer he shook his head. "Nope, never mind. I don't think I want to know."

Isabel giggled and started tugging him back upstairs. "Let's go."

Upon returning to their rooms, they passed the rooms of their companions, who had all gotten wind of where the two Wardens had spent the night. Alistair tightened his grip on her hand as they walked by them all, determined to get back to his room as fast as humanly possible.

"In the dungeons?" Zevran asked, moving next to Alistair as they walked. "I never would have thought you had such an appetite, my good friend Alistair."

"Andraste's flaming sword!" he groaned. "We didn't… not in the _dungeon_."

"It's a shame," Zevran continued. "Shackles and chains can spice things up, no?"

Isabel suppressed another fit of laughter, for Alistair's sake. As tempting as that all sounded, he had suffered enough embarrassment for one day. "Okay, that's enough of that," she cut in before Zevran said anything else. "We all need to get ready to leave for Orzammar, so get on it."

Zevran obeyed, heading towards his room, not without waggling his eyebrows at them first. Alistair sighed, shaking his head.

"They'll forget soon enough," Isabel said softly.

"I know, I know." He gave her a small, lopsided smile, cupping her cheek with his hand. He pressed a soft kiss to her lips before pulling away."I'll see you at breakfast?"

"I'll save you some extra food," she said, smiling when his face lit up.

"You're the best, Izzy."

She squeezed his hand before they parted, each heading to their own rooms to prepare for the next part of their journey.


	4. A Very Handsome Man

**A Very Handsome Man**

So this is my take on the "Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?" conversation that the Warden can have with Alistair. Except for him and Isabel it happens once they're already together (and he had just almost confessed his love for her but didn't in the last moment).

* * *

Alistair was a _very_ handsome man. Had Isabel not been so grief-stricken when she first met him, she would have pulled out every charm and flirting tactic she'd mastered over the years to get him alone somewhere private. And then she would have reveled in his delicious good looks… among other things.

Fate had a weird sense of humor, because they ended up alone together, after all. They sat at the edge of camp, her body right next to his, while he idly played with her hand, his fingers tracing over hers and the lines of her palm. Isabel couldn't take her eyes off of him, gazing appreciatively over his features… his beautiful amber eyes, kissable lips, and that nose of his—the same nose his father and brother had.

"Izzy?" Alistair asked, suddenly turning to face her, his eyes meeting hers.

"Hmm?"

"You were staring at me," he said. "I didn't get food all over my face did I?"

"No, not at all," she replied with a light laugh. "I was simply looking at you. Has anyone ever told you how handsome you are?"

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Not unless they were asking me for a favor," he answered. "Well, there was that one time in Denerim, but those women were… not like you." He looked at her suspiciously, biting back a grin. "Why are you asking? Is this your way of telling me _you_think I'm handsome?"

Isabel shot him a wry smile. "And if it is? What then?"

"Oh, nothing much," he said with a shrug. "I just get to grin and look foolish for a while."

She snorted a laugh. "Alistair, you _always_ look foolish."

"Hey!" He brought his hand to his chest in mock offense. "That hurts. I think I might cry."

Isabel giggled, bumping her shoulder with his. He bumped her back, smiling at her, and she took a moment to study him. "I have a feeling that you already _know_ that you're handsome."

"Maybe. It doesn't hurt to have a pretty girl say that, though," he said, and she smiled. "Beats being run through with a sword any day!" Isabel laughed before calming down and resting her head on his shoulder, his arm coming around her to hold her close. "You never answered my question," he muttered after a short silence.

"Oh, right… do _I_ think you're handsome," she said. She lifted her head off his shoulder and shot him a mischievous grin. "My lips are sealed on that matter."

"Oh, I get it," he started, chuckling. "I'll get it out of you, yet."

Isabel bit her lip and leaned closer to him, her gaze drifting down to his lips before meeting his eyes again. "And how do you plan on doing that?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper.

He flashed her a quick smile before closing the small distance between them and pressing his mouth to hers. She sighed into the kiss, her hand coming up to thread through his short hair, his cupping her face. Alistair shifted his weight and turned his body towards her, slowly and gently lowering her to the ground as he climbed over her. She pulled his body down against hers as she deepened the kiss, both of them getting lost in each other until they broke for air. He pulled back and rested his forehead against hers, and she grinned, nuzzling her face against his.

"All right, I'll admit it," she said, still a little breathless. "You, Alistair, are a _very_ handsome man."

He huffed a laugh and smiled. "What a relief!" he replied, and she giggled. "So… is this the part where I get to say the same?"

Isabel snorted. "Well, that would be _nice_," she said sarcastically.

"Oh? In that case… Isabel, you are a _very_ handsome man."

"Alistair!" She shoved him in the shoulder and they cracked-up, their whole bodies shaking with the force of their laughter. He rolled off of her as they started to calm down, and Isabel moved to his side, draping herself over him with a smile. Alistair lifted his hand to caress her cheek, looking up at her with pure adoration in his eyes.

"You _are_ beautiful… especially when you smile like that," he said softly, and her smile grew.

"Flatterer."

"Ah, you've caught me, dear lady," he replied. "I will do _anything_ to get you to kiss me again."

"All you have to do is ask," she whispered, lowering her lips to his.


	5. Confessions - Part 1

**Confessions - Part 1**

A few things to note:  
• Bear is Isabel's mabari.  
• I headcanon that the way Grey Wardens sense the taint in darkspawn is by feeling naseous. So the more darkspawn/the closer they are, the more nauseous they feel.

* * *

Alistair knew he loved her.

It dawned on him after their unnatural quest to obtain Andraste's ashes, when she told him the full story of what happened to her family for the first time. He had put together bits and pieces of the tragedy from previous conversations, but to hear the story in full… _no one_ should have gone through that.

It was when she finished speaking, when she lay in his arms after crying herself to sleep that he realized just how much he felt for her. Granted, it wasn't the best time to fall in love—there was a Blight and all that to stop—but he couldn't help it. He was too far gone.

And he didn't care.

Because he _loved_ her.

He loved the way she bit her lip when she was nervous. He loved the mischievous grin she gave him before she said or did something that made him blush. He loved the way she snorted when she laughed. He loved the way she curled into his side during the nights they slept beside each other, the tickle of her warm breath on his neck as she buried her face against him. He loved the way she gulped down almost as much food as he did, somehow managing not to get a speck of it on her. He loved the way every arrow she loosed hit its mark. He loved the way she was still fighting, even after what happened to her and her family. He loved _her_.

Maker's breath, he was in love_._

_Love_.

He would have shouted it from the rooftops given the chance. He'd fallen, _hard_, and he wanted the world to know that he loved an amazing, beautiful woman. He could barely hold it in, he wanted to burst, to tell her so badly, so after days and days of holding it in he finally mustered up the courage to tell her…

…

"Hey, Izzy?" he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Can I talk to you… alone?"

Isabel lifted her head from his shoulder, quirking an eyebrow at him. "What exactly do you want to talk about?" she asked, bright eyes on his.

"Not here," he urged, his eyes darting to their companions around camp. The last thing he needed was for all of them to be a part of this conversation.

"All right, then." She took his hand and stood up, dragging him away with her. As soon as they were alone, she whirled around with a grin and grabbed either side of his face, pulling him into a kiss.

The sudden action startled Alistair, but he quickly found himself kissing her back, their mouths moving against each other's in a familiar dance until they had to part for air. Isabel started kissing down his throat, her hands busying themselves by sliding over his skin under his shirt. She lightly nibbled on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, sending shivers down his spine, his hands tightening on her waist. She was making it _very_ hard to concentrate.

"Izzy," he forced out, biting back a groan when her fingernails lightly scraped over his back.

"Yes, Ali?" she replied, her lips on his jaw before finding his again.

"Mmm… as much as I-I'm enjoying this," he mumbled between kisses, "I really n-need… to tell you…"

Isabel pulled back and bit her lip, snorting a laugh. "Oh Maker, you actually wanted to tell me something, didn't you?" He chuckled nervously and nodded, and she broke out into a fit of giggles. He laughed with her, until they both calmed down, and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers.

"You're amazing, you know that?" he murmured, watching as a grin spread across her face. He couldn't resist touching her, bringing his hand up to cup her cheek.

"Well, I try," she said, leaning into his touch. The smile dropped from her face as he got serious, her brows drawn together as she studied him. "Alistair, what is it?" she asked quietly, her green eyes narrowing the slightest bit.

Alistair wanted to just say it and be done with it, but now that the moment had come, his confidence had abandoned him.

"Thank you," he blurted out, wanting to hit himself for acting so ridiculous.

"For what?"

"For… everything," he started, trying to find the right words to say—which would have been a lot easier if she wasn't starting at him like… like _that_. He resisted the urge to nervously fidget, focusing on his thumb stroking her cheek instead. "I appreciate everything you've done for me," he continued. "Helping Connor and Eamon, taking me to see my sister… helping me with Duncan's death…"

Isabel's expression softened, a hint of a smile on her lips. "You've helped me as well," she said, nuzzling her face against his. "We're in this together."

"That we are," Alistair agreed. "I have your back, you know that, right?"

"I know. And I have yours." She let out a deep breath, the puff of air tickling his lips. "Is that what you wanted to tell me?"

His stomach flipped and he swallowed hard, once again nervous about telling her how he felt. "Not exactly," he muttered, releasing her and taking a step back. She regarded him with a curious expression, no doubt trying to figure out what was going through his mind.

"Then what is it?" she asked. "You can tell me anything, Ali."

Alistair scratched the back of his neck, his eyes flickering to the ground. _Maker_, what was he doing? He was about to confess his love for her, the least he could do was _look_ at her. Mustering up his lost courage, he met her gaze again, those vivid green eyes boring into his. He took her hands in his, for good measure, and to help calm his nerves.

"These past few months would have been so much worse without you in my life," he started, trying to keep his voice from shaking. "You are a true friend, and… Isabel, I…"

He hesitated, those last two words getting stuck in the back of his throat. In that split second, Isabel gasped, her eyes going wide as she pulled her hands from his, stepping back from him. He didn't understand what provoked her reaction, unless… did she _know_ what he was trying to say?

If she did… Maker, she _pulled away_ from him.

Her rejection hurt, his heart constricting in his chest until he realized that she wasn't _trying_ to hurt him, she was just _terrified_. Isabel had gone pale, her entire body as tense as a bowstring as she wrapped her arms around herself, her wild pulse thumping in the vein of her neck. He wanted to pull her into his embrace and comfort her, but he didn't dare touch her. It was his near confession of love that had scared her half to death, after all. At least, that's what he _thought_…

"I care about you, Izzy," he finally said, his voice soft. "So much."

For a long moment she stared at him, chewing on her lower lip, until she huffed, relaxing the slightest bit. "I know," she whispered. She went to say something else, but faltered, swallowing hard before trying again. "I… I care about you, too." He offered her a small smile, hoping she would return the gesture, but she pursed her lips together, her gaze darting away from him. "I need to go," she muttered, brushing past him, back towards camp.

"Isabel, wait!" he called after her, anxiety settling in the pit of his stomach. She stopped in her tracks, hesitating before turning around to face him. "Are we okay?" he asked, his voice small, desperate to know if he ruined things between them.

"We're fine," she snapped. Isabel took the time to think about it, her brow furrowing at the thought. "We're fine, Alistair. I just… I need to go, okay?" she said, her voice cracking.

"Okay," he whispered.

She briskly returned to camp and he waited a while before doing the same, dejected and anxious. His confession wasn't supposed to go like _that_. He was supposed to say "I love you," and then she would say it back, or at least _smile_. They would both be happy and they'd laugh, and maybe they'd even kiss. He wasn't supposed to scare away the one good thing in his life.

He kept his distance the rest of the night, disappointed when he didn't wake up in the middle of the night to find Isabel in his arms, seeking relief from yet another nightmare. He didn't sleep much after that, unable to get past the fact that he might have scared her out of ever finding comfort in his arms again.

Alistair didn't understand what had gone wrong. Isabel had said she cared about him, and he thought it had grown into something more during the time they had spent together. He wasn't positive that she _loved_ him yet, but he never thought he would get such a bad reaction from her.

He didn't know how long he tossed and turned, unable to get Isabel's terrified look out of his head, until it finally dawned on him. _Her family_. Everyone she cared about had been ripped from her life, and she'd built a wall around her heart; he was going to have to spend more time helping her take it down, piece by piece.

He could wait. His love for her wasn't going anywhere.

Determined to fix the mess he made, Alistair decided that he would start by making sure she was okay. He should have known she wasn't ready for such a monumental confession, and he needed her to know that things would still be okay, even after their disaster of a conversation. He would do everything in his power to make her smile again, even put on a dress and dance the Remigold.

The next morning he was fully prepared to set his plan in motion before she continued to pull away, but Isabel greeted him with the same good-morning kiss she gave him every time they slept apart, like their conversation the previous night had never happened. He was stunned, but eagerly went along with it, simply happy to be in her presence again. He could try to talk to her about what happened later.

That night he still hadn't brought it up—not like he had much of a chance once she dragged him away from camp, her lips on his leaving him breathless and dazed.

Two days later, when she crawled into his tent and cuddled beside him after a horrid nightmare, he still hadn't brought it up.

Five days after his failed attempt, after watching the amazement in her eyes as they traversed through Orzammar for the first time, he still hadn't told her.

A week after, when they got lost in each other in a dark room in Orzammar's palace, the feel of her beneath him driving him insane, both coming so close to crossing that last line together, he still hadn't told her.

Two weeks and one day after his failed attempt at a confession, she lay dying in his arms, and all he could do was _wish_ he told her how he felt before it was too late.

* * *

Isabel hated the Deep Roads. They had only been down there for five days—that's what they thought, at least, since there was no _real_ way of knowing—and she had hated every single one of them.

It was dark, gloomy, and crawling with darkspawn whose taint made her sick to her stomach. The deeper down they went, the more her and Alistair had the urge to retch. Their nightmares got worse, too—not like anyone was getting much sleep to begin with.

At least they finally made it to the Ortan Thaig. According to the drunkard of a dwarf, signs of Branka were everywhere, though they hadn't found her yet… and it didn't look like they would, unfortunately for them.

Walking down yet another rocky tunnel, Isabel heard a hiss and tensed, tightening the grip she had on her bow.

"Be prepared," Sten announced, accompanied by a menacing growl from Bear, and everyone prepared for another fight. Isabel nocked and readied an arrow, her eyes darting around in the dim light, looking for whatever was waiting for them. It was quiet, too quiet, until a cacophony of hisses came from above, giant, hairy spiders dropping down from the ceiling. She screamed at the petrifying beasts, practically hiding behind Alistair.

"Keep them away from me!" she screeched, as everyone leapt into battle. She couldn't move, barely able to breathe as her heart raced in her chest. She buried her face in her hands and closed her eyes, wishing she were anywhere but _there_, her fear of the spiders overwhelming her.

She almost jumped when she felt a pair of hands grasp her arms, her eyes snapping open to land on Alistair.

"Isabel, you're shaking," he said softly, clearly worried about her. She nodded, trying to calm herself as he soothingly ran his hands up and down her arms.

"It seems our fearless leader is afraid of spiders," Zevran remarked, and she whirled around, glaring at him.

"Did you see the size of those things?" she snapped.

"You were _cowering_!" Oghren said with a laugh, and she shot him a glare as well.

"I did not cower," Isabel protested. "I just… froze."

Alistair tugged her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Don't worry, Izzy," he murmured. "I'll protect you from any spiders."

Her eyes found his as she settled into his embrace. "You promise?"

"I swear it upon my honor as a Grey Warden," he replied.

"Thank you," she breathed.

"I could shift into a spider if you wish," Morrigan started, Isabel's eyes widening at her words, "in order to help you get over your childish fear."

"You're not helping," Alistair barked at her, and Morrigan rolled her eyes at him, dropping the idea.

"Surely there is a better way for you to overcome your fear?" Leliana asked, and Isabel shook her head.

"My brother once insisted that I try by learning about spiders and understanding them," she began, eyeing one of the dead spiders like it would come back to life and eat her. "It didn't work… it just made things worse."

"I'm sorry to tell you this, dear, but I doubt these are the only spiders we'll see," Wynne pointed out.

"Great," she said with a sigh. "Can we just get this over with, then?"

With that, everyone continued down the tunnel, prepared for another fight. Isabel didn't dare leave Alistair's side, and he pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her temple, the gesture comforting her as they walked.

"Don't worry, Izzy," he said, lacing their fingers together. "Between me and Bear, none of the spiders will get anywhere near you."

Bear happily barked from her other side, nudging his wet nose against her hand. She huffed a laugh, scratching the mabari behind the ears.

"I'll hold you to that."

The tunnel led to yet another cavern, but still no Branka. Isabel remained on high alert, her eyes scanning over the rocky ceiling, searching for the slightest clue that there were more spiders waiting for them. Beside her, Bear growled, and she jerked her gaze downwards, finding a giant spider waiting for them at the mouth of another tunnel. She squeezed Alistair's hand, holding her breath until it finally moved. It didn't attack them, instead scurrying down the passageway, as if it were leading them somewhere.

Apparently to everyone but her, that meant they were heading in the right direction.

"Following the giant spider into the creepy, dark tunnel is probably the worst idea we've ever had," she muttered under her breath.

"Just think of them as overgrown bugs," Alistair offered. "Instead of squishing them with your boot, you've just got to stab them with a sword… or shoot them with an arrow."

"They're not just overgrown, Alistair, they're _monstrous_," she shot back. The thought of finding more at the end of the corridor already had her heart beating twice as fast.

"Just stay behind me and you'll be fine. I'll keep you safe."

"Okay," she mumbled, letting him pull her along with the rest of the group. The tunnel lead to another chamber, covered in webbing and bones… the spiders' lair. Isabel barely made it three feet inside before she froze, trying not to shake as she frantically looked around for more spiders. "Ali, I _can't_," she breathed, unable to stop her voice from trembling. He turned to face her, his eyes going wide as something behind her caught his eye.

She heard them before she saw them, the sharp hissing of the spiders alerting her to their presence. She screamed as Alistair jerked her towards him and away from the beasts, shouting at the others to attack.

Everyone rushed into battle, and Isabel stayed by Alistair's side, gripping her bow so tight her knuckles were white. Her eyes darted all around her, blinking back tears as she took in the sheer number of spiders that had surrounded them. Alistair, Bear, and the others were slicing down spiders left and right, none of them getting near her, but they were still outnumbered. Isabel couldn't breathe, whimpering as she trembled, dropping her bow as she pressed her fists to the side of her head, wishing the spiders would vanish and everything would just _stop_.

She was all but ready to crumple to the ground and cry until it was over, when she saw a spider even more horrifying than the ones she'd already seen. It was bigger than the rest, and by the yellow and purple markings on its large, round abdomen, it was very poisonous—deadly, even.

And it was headed right for her and Alistair.

He had no idea the thing was barreling towards them, too busy taking on two spiders in front of him. The thought of it pouncing on him, _killing him_, struck even more fear into her heart, and she frantically picked up her bow from the ground, desperate to do _something_. She pulled out an arrow from her quiver, nocking it and raising her bow, unable to aim with her shaky hands. She let out a desperate whine as she tried to focus on what she was doing, taking a deep breath and holding it as she aligned the tip of her arrow with the monster's beady eyes.

Isabel loosed her arrow, her chest constricting when she missed her target, the arrow landing in the side of the spider's abdomen. It released an enraged shriek, and she tried to get in another shot but the massive creature jumped, flying through the air right at her. She screamed, bringing her bow up as a shield as it landed on her, knocking her to the ground. Her heart was racing, pumping adrenaline through her veins as she struggled against the weight of the spider, it's fangs gnashing at her from behind her bow.

Her arms started to give out, her muscles burning against the force of the spider. She screamed again, excruciating pain radiating through her body as its fangs found her shoulder. It pulled back and dug into her shoulder again, her mouth open in a wordless cry of agony as the breath left her lungs.

She heard Alistair shout her name, his voice frantic, and then felt the warmth of the spider's blood rush onto her as his sword sliced through its head… or was that her own blood?

Alistair kneeled at her side, pulling her onto his lap as he covered the wound with his hand and desperately called for Wynne. His eyes landed on hers, the amber orbs filled with terror.

Isabel tried to say so say something, but couldn't get any words out, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her vision blurred as she grew dizzy, her heartbeat pounding in her head, a strange, cold sensation spreading through her body.

"Isabel, please, hold on," Alistair muttered, rocking her back and forth in his arms. He _screamed_ for Wynne, his voice cracking with emotion. "Don't you leave me, too… _please_ don't leave me… I need you…"

She could barely see him now, darkness creeping in on the edge of her blurred vision, but she could still _hear_ him, and he sounded so afraid. She'd never heard him sound so distressed, and she wanted to comfort him, to reach for him, but her arms were heavy, too heavy to move if she could summon the willpower to even try.

Alistair said something else, but her hearing failed her and all she heard was the deep, wordless rumbling of his voice. Her eyes drooped closed even though she didn't want them to, her lungs burning as she struggled for air. It was so hard to breathe, to stay awake, and she could feel herself fading away until there was nothing left… she descended into darkness, everything around her going black.

…

The sound of her scream sent shivers down his spine. She wasn't supposed to be _screaming_, she was supposed to be behind him, _safe_, like he promised she would be.

Summoning every last bit of strength he had, Alistair finished killing the spiders he faced, immediately turning toward the source of Isabel's scream, the sight that greeted him making his heart clench in his chest.

A spider twice the size of the others they fought had pinned her down to the ground, its monstrous size overwhelming her as its fangs dug right into Isabel's shoulder. It tore through her armor like it was _nothing_, her accompanying cry of pain making him wince.

Alistair was already running towards her, shouting her name as he readied his sword, ramming the beast with his shield and stabbing it through the head. He dropped everything as soon as it was dead, his eyes frantically looking towards where Isabel lay motionless beside him.

He threw himself on the ground beside her, pulling her broken body into his arms and pressing his hand to her bleeding shoulder as he called for Wynne. Isabel opened her mouth to speak, but all she could do was gasp as she struggled for air, her warm blood soaking his hand through his gloves.

Alistair's stomach dropped, his chest tight as he rocked her back and forth, pleading for her to hold on. Seeing her like this, holding her in his arms as the life slowly poured out of her had him frantic, his mind racing with pleas to the Maker while he tried not to think about where things were heading.

He looked up to the battlefield, _screaming_ at the top of his lungs for Wynne when he didn't see her right away. He swallowed hard as he looked back to Isabel, a knot in his throat, his mouth dry.

"Don't you leave me, too… _please_ don't leave me… I need you," he begged, watching in horror as she stared up at nothing. She was shaking—no, _he_ was shaking—and he could see the light fading from those normally vivid, green eyes as she lay dying in his arms. "Isabel!" he wailed, blinking back tears, "please, don't go!"

His cries were for naught, her eyes fluttering closed, her shallow breaths few and far between. Alistair choked back a sob, gently brushing back her hair from her face with a shaky hand as he pulled her body to his chest, nuzzling his face against hers. _Maker_, she was so cold, all the warmth from her body sapped away, like it was never there in the first place.

"Izzy… I love you," he whimpered, tears spilling down his cheeks, holding her tightly as if it would somehow keep her alive. "I love you so much," he repeated, voice trembling. "Stay with me, love. I can't… I can't lose you."

"Get back!" came Wynne's voice from behind him, and Alistair immediately did as the healer said, gently lying Isabel down on the ground, a spark of hope in his heart. Wynne got straight to work, kneeling over her, holding her ear to her mouth and then her chest before summoning healing magic to her fingertips. "She's breathing, barely, and her heartbeat is faint," Wynne stated as she healed the wound in Isabel's shoulder. "She's lost a lot of blood, but she might just make it."

Alistair let out a shaky breath of relief, slumping as he looked upwards, a thank you slipping past his lips. He wiped the tears from his face and took her hand in his as the rest of their companions gathered around them. He barely registered their presence, his eyes locked on Isabel, the tiniest of pulses beneath her paled skin.

She might live… the love of his life had a _chance_.

* * *

Isabel was warm. Wherever she was, she was almost _too_ warm, a cocoon of heat surrounding her entire body.

There was also a heartbeat. Hers was thrumming inside her head, the pressure behind her eyes causing a headache, but there was another one that she heard underneath hers—one steady and strong, the familiar sound comforting.

She continued to notice things, bit by bit… A soft weight draped over her body, the tickle of fur on her bare skin. The sound of slow, deep breaths, a fire crackling in the distance. The bare, hard flesh pressed up against her, muscular arms wrapped around her waist, bare legs intertwined with her own. Her first conscious thought was to wonder why her bed partner was clad in only his smalls, herself in a similar state save for the breast band she also wore.

Isabel fluttered her eyes open, finding herself in a familiar position. She had woken up to this very situation a lot in the past few months—curled up in Alistair's arms, her head nestled in the crook between his neck and shoulder, completely surrounded by _him_.

She was exhausted, her eyelids heavy and muscles weary, so she cuddled closer to Alistair, fully intending on going back to sleep. As she moved, her right shoulder twinged, the sharp pain jerking her out of her groggy state, the memory of what caused it coming back to her.

"Oww," she moaned, her fingers curling against Alistair's chest. He practically jumped at the sound of her voice, immediately loosening his grip on her, gently allowing her to lie on her back.

"Easy, easy," he whispered, rolling onto his side beside her, his hand cupping her face, thumb stroking her cheek. Isabel met his amber gaze, his brow furrowed and lips pursed as he stared at her intensely. "Thank the Maker you're okay," he breathed, and she'd barely processed the words before his lips claimed hers in a passionate, desperate kiss. The emotion behind it surprised her at first, but she quickly settled into it, eagerly returning his kiss.

When he pulled back they were both panting, a slow smile spreading across his face. She offered him a small smile in return, and he huffed, shaking his head as he stared down at her. He leaned in for another kiss, slower and more tender than before, but still enough to take her breath away.

He nuzzled her face, his fingers tucking her hair behind her ears before gently tracing over her face. She was content to simply lie there as he touched her, his movements relaxing and soothing, sleep starting to crawl its way to the forefront of her mind.

"I'll be right back, okay?" he whispered, jarring her out of her half-asleep state.

"Okay," she murmured against his lips as he gave her another quick kiss. Alistair carefully climbed out from under the blankets, shuffling over to the flaps of the tent and sticking his head outside. Isabel took the moment to admire his backside as he bent over, her gaze traveling over his revealed legs and back before returning to his rear.

He didn't seem to notice her staring when he turned back around and started to burrow under the blankets again.

"You're not wearing any pants," she pointed out, watching as he froze, a blush creeping up onto his cheeks. "I'm not wearing any pants either," she added, the heat in his cheeks continuing to bloom. "In fact, neither of us is wearing much of anything. What happened?"

"The spider poisoned you," Alistair said, growing serious as he settled at her side again. "You were so cold, and Wynne said body heat was the best way to warm you up… and body heat is better shared when the bodies aren't clothed."

"Right," she said, just as Wynne crawled through the flap of the tent. Bear came barreling in after her, panting in excitement, his stubby tail waggling away.

"What did I tell you?" she said, shooting the dog a stern look. He whined in apology, slowly pattering up to Isabel, gently nudging her with his snout. "Much better," Wynne commented as Isabel smiled, petting the mabari behind his ears. He started licking her face, and she giggled. "All right, that's enough." Wynne shooed Bear away, settling down next to Isabel and Alistair. "How are you feeling?" the mage asked, gesturing for her to sit up.

Alistair helped her move again, and she winced at the pain in her shoulder. "It hurts," she mumbled, taking a look at the injury to her shoulder for the first time. With the amount of pain she felt, she expected it to be… well, _worse_, but there were only faint, white scars where her shredded and torn skin was magically knit back together.

"I was able to heal most of the damage, thankfully before you lost too much blood," Wynne started, carefully poking and prodding her sensitive flesh. Isabel flinched at the sharp pricks of pain, and Alistair started to rub her back in an attempt to help. "The poison from the spider's fangs was more complicated. Your body temperature dropped dangerously low, and we weren't sure you were going to make it," she continued, her gaze flicking to Alistair's for a brief moment. "Morrigan was able to harvest some of the spider's venom and create an antidote from it. You were still freezing to the touch, but between the fire, the blankets, and Alistair and the dog, we were able to warm you back up."

"Thank you," Isabel murmured, smiling softly at the three of them.

"You're very welcome, dear," the mage replied, Alistair pressing a gentle kiss to her uninjured shoulder as Bear barked happily. Wynne finished inspecting her wound, handing her a small vial of liquid. "I'm afraid you're going to be sore for a while, but this will help with the pain." Isabel downed the liquid in one gulp, grimacing at the taste before handing the vial back to the healer. "You should get some rest," Wynne said seriously. "The both of you."

She went to leave, attempting to shoo Bear out of the tent. The mabari whined in protest, and Isabel snorted a laugh, calling him over. She grabbed his face and pressed a kiss to his wet nose before telling him to go with Wynne. Once she and Alistair were alone, she let out a sigh and rested her head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around her.

"Are you all right? Do you need more blankets?" he asked softly, and she smiled.

"I'm actually quite warm… and not because you're practically naked," she started, laughing to herself as she looked up and met his gaze. "Though, that might be some of it."

He chuckled nervously, blushing again as he reached for their packs, no doubt to find some clothes for them to wear. Isabel stopped him, taking his hand and lacing their fingers together.

"What are you doing?" he breathed.

"Don't," she said, cuddling closer to him, enjoying the way his skin felt next to hers. "I like this."

"Are you sure? You're—"

"Practically naked?"

"Well, yes," he started, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand.

"So are you," Isabel pointed out, her lips curling into a wry smile. "And besides, you've seen quite a bit of me already. You've _felt_ even more of me."

Alistair's eyes widened and he swallowed hard, his blush reaching the tips of his ears. "That was, um… it was… well—"

"I know," she muttered, biting her lip as she stared up at him. Isabel looked away before meeting his gaze again, her brows furrowed. "If it makes you uncomfortable, we can put on more clothes…"

"No!" he said quickly, and she quirked an eyebrow at him. He sighed, shaking his head. "I mean… I like this, too."

"Good," she said, smiling. She shivered, the remnants of the warmth she felt before fading away. "Can we do this under some blankets? I'm getting cold again."

"Of course," Alistair replied, reaching for the multitude of furs and blankets inside the tent. He wrapped the thickest one around their shoulders, and she hummed in delight as warmth began to seep into her bones again.

They sat in silence for a long time, content to simply enjoy the feel of each other's skin as they cuddled, Isabel's eyelids growing heavy as time passed. She was on the verge of sleep when Alistair's voice broke the silence.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, so quiet she almost missed it.

She lifted her head off his shoulder, shooting him a questioning look. "For what?"

"The spider… I let it happen," he replied, looking at the ground. "I promised you that I would protect you from them, and I let you get hurt."

"No," she said firmly, turning his head, forcing him to keep his eyes on her. "That was not your fault, Ali. If anything, it's mine. If I wasn't so afraid… I could have fought back."

"It's not just that," Alistair started, frowning.

"Then what else is bothering you?"

"I was so scared, Izzy," he said, his voice eerily quiet. "When I saw that thing on you… when you were lying in my arms… I thought I'd lost you." Tears began to well up in his eyes, and a knot formed in her throat at the sight.

"I'm right here," she replied softly. "You haven't lost me."

"But I almost did." Alistair huffed, shaking his head, his amber eyes boring into hers. "Isabel, you were _dying_. Even after Wynne healed you, we didn't know if you were going to make it," he continued, his voice strained with emotion. "I held you the whole time, praying that you would wake up. I begged you to stay with me. I—" He stopped himself, nervously scratching the back of his head before taking her hands and holding them between his own. "I need to tell you something, and it's important," he said urgently, and she narrowed her eyes at him.

She carefully studied him, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. Isabel's stomach dropped, her mouth drying when she recognized the look in his eyes—that _look_, the one he gave her that fateful day he scared her away with an attempt at sharing his true feelings for her.

"Alistair, I don't think—"

"Please, hear me out," he begged, squeezing her hands.

"Don't say it," she whispered, her heart racing as she shook her head.

"That's not going to make it go away," he muttered."And… I may have of said it already…"

"_What?_"

"You were dying!" he repeated, defensively this time. "I couldn't stand the thought of you dying and not knowing."

"I was _unconscious_! You can't just say that to someone when they're _unconscious_!"

"I know! But that didn't change the fact that I love you!" he said, huffing a breath of relief. "Maker's breath, Izzy, _I love you_!"

Isabel stared at him, completely dumbfounded, even though she knew how he felt, as much as she tried to forget it. She was speechless, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open as her heart thrummed in her chest, her stomach twisting. "I… I can't…"

"You don't have to say it back," he added quickly. "I just… had to tell you."

"Alistair," she breathed, her eyes brimming with tears. She pulled her hands away from his, bringing them to her chest under the blanket. "Everyone I've ever loved has been taken from me. How can I ever let myself feel that way for someone else, when the same thing could happen again?" She sniffled, wiping away a tear that fell down her cheekwith a shaky hand. "If I let myself love you, and something happens… if you died…"

She couldn't even _think_ about that.

"I know," he said with a small smile. "I just… wanted you to know that _I_ love _you_." Alistair held her gaze, his amber eyes filled with such love and affection that it melted her inside. As much as she hated it, his confession made her heart skip a beat, her stomach fluttering with nervous excitement. But she still felt a sense of dread underneath it all, like something _horrible_ was going to happen.

"So… what do you want from me?" she cautiously asked, unsure of what this meant for their relationship.

"Nothing," Alistair answered. "All I ask is that you let me love you… if you're okay with that."

She thought about it for a long time, and Maker bless him, Alistair waited in silence for her to speak, his expression shifting from hopeful to nervous and back again.

"I… okay," she said slowly, quietly. She cared about him, she did, more than she'd ever cared about anyone, and that was going to have to be enough for now. And if she were honest with herself, the thought of being loved—being _truly_ loved, flaws and all—warmed her heart.

Alistair let out a breath of relief, his shoulders slumping. "Well! Now that that's out of the way…" He grinned at her, staring into her eyes as he practically burst with excitement. His gaze dropped to her lips before he leaned in for a passionate kiss, and she could _feel_ his love for her in the way he kissed her. It had always been there, she just refused to acknowledge it until now… and it wasn't half bad. "We should probably rest," he murmured against her lips after he pulled back, barely. "You heard Wynne…"

She nodded in agreement, and they shifted around the tent until they were lying comfortably together, cuddled under the blanket.

"Alistair?"

"Yeees?"

Isabel lifted her head from his chest and looked him in the eyes, smiling. "Thank you… for understanding."

"You're welcome, love," he replied. She gasped, and he blushed, his eyes wide. "I'm sorry, should I not call you that?"

"No, I… I think I like it," she answered, smiling softly at him. "It's just going to take some getting used to.

"Right," he said, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. She pressed a quick peck to his lips before lying back on his chest, a smile still on her lips.

"Goodnight, Ali."

"Night, my love."


	6. Confessions - Part 2

**Confessions - Part 2**

* * *

After a month in the Deep Roads, the two Wardens and their companions finally returned to Orzammar, successful in their endeavor, but still shaken up by everything they encountered down there. Orzammar had a new king who had agreed to assist with the darkspawn threat. They had accomplished their goal, getting one step closer to the end of the Blight

Isabel was just glad to finally be out of the Deep Roads. She just wanted to take a much-needed bath, and then fall into bed—an _actual bed_ and not a bedroll—with Alistair at her side.

They walked down the stone corridors of Orzammar'spalace hand in hand, their companions filing into their respective rooms one by one, leaving the two alone in the hallway. Isabel turned to face him and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

"Take a bath, and then come to my room," she ordered, and Alistair smiled at her.

"Your desire is my command," he replied with a mock bow, and she laughed, pulling him into another kiss. When they broke for air, she closed her eyes and let out a content sigh.

"I can't wait to sleep in a real bed again."

"Mmm… a nice, comfortable mattress with soft, warm sheets," he started, burying his face in her neck. She squealed when his beard tickled her, and he laughed, pressing a kiss to her pulse. "The best part is that we get it all to ourselves since Wynne has been confiscating Bear these past few nights."

"I miss my puppy," she said with a pout.

Alistair huffed, nuzzling her face. "_Puppy?_"

"You know what I mean," she replied. "He woke up on top of me _once_, and it was an accident. He wasn't _trying_ to hurt me."

"Wynne doesn't want to risk aggravating your shoulder."

"I know." Isabel sighed, her lips curling into a wry smile. "She should be more worried about _you_. You squish me when we sleep all the time."

"I do not!"

"Yes you do!" she shot back, giggling. "I've woken up halfway underneath you on more than one occasion. And there's no escaping, either. You've always got your arm wrapped around me."

"I don't hurt you, do I?" he asked, suddenly nervous.

"No, of course not," she said softly, running her fingers over his jaw. "You've never hurt me."

"Good," he breathed, smiling lopsidedly at her.

"But… you _do_ smell," she pointed out, wrinkling her nose. "You really need that bath."

Alistair laughed as she grinned at him. "You do too, love."

Isabel gently poked him in the shoulder, shooting him a playful glare. "I am a proper lady and ladies do not smell."

"Proper lady, huh?" he started, releasing her and eying her armor. "Tell that to all the dirt and blood you're wearing."

She groaned, grimacing at how _gross _they both were. "Oh Maker, we're _disgusting_. I need a bath _now_." She went to open the door to her room, but Alistair caught her hand, tugging her close again, his amber eyes staring right into hers.

"I still love you, even when you're covered in dirt and blood," he muttered.

She bit her lip, trying to ignore the way her stomach flipped when he said those words. Maker help her, he'd been saying it for almost a month now, and she still felt giddy and excited every time. She'd learned to ignore the worry that accompanied it, instead focusing on the _good_. He loved her, and it felt nice to be loved.

"I know," she whispered, offering him a small smile. He smiled back before pressing a quick kiss to her lips, then returning to his room next door.

Isabel entered her room and undressed as quickly as she could, desperate to get in the bath and be _clean_ again. By the time she finished washing herself, the water wasn't clear anymore, and she got out of the tub as quickly as she could, shuddering at the thought that all of _that_ had been on _her_.

She had just finished getting dressed and drying her hair when Alistair knocked on her door, and she hurried over to let him in. He smiled at her as he entered the room, and she closed the door behind him, turning to face him. He looked fresh and clean, his hair disorganized and shooting up in every direction possible. It was endearing, adorable really, and she found herself smiling to herself as she watched his eyes scan her room.

"Are you all right, Ali?"

He cleared his throat, focusing on her, a blush creeping up onto his cheeks. "I was just thinking… about the last time we slept in here…"

"We didn't do much sleeping," she commented. "At least, not at first…"

Alistair swallowed hard, his cheeks continuing to redden as he stared at her. Isabel bit her lip, her mind wandering to the night in question, the night they had almost given in to their desires for one another. In a way they had, their bodies pressed flush together, hips grinding against each other in the dark until they both came undone. It was an accident that things had gotten that far in the first place. Had they not still been partially clothed, they might have done… more.

There hadn't been much time to process what had transpired between them, because the next morning they set off for the Deep Roads, and it was the farthest things from their mind in _that_ place. But now, being together in her room again, the bed looming behind them, it was almost impossible not to remember.

Isabel felt her pulse quicken as she stared into Alistair's eyes, resisting the urge to kiss him. She wanted to lose herself in him, to forget about everything that happened in the Deep Roads, until the only thing that consumed her mind was _him_. The intensity of his gaze, amber eyes periodically flicking to her lips, told her his thoughts were similar to hers.

"Are you afraid of something like that happening again?" she whispered, swallowing hard. "Are you worried that we'll lose control of things?"

"I'm not afraid," he muttered. "I… I want it to happen again, I—" He quickly shut his mouth, his eyes wide in embarrassment as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh Maker, how do I say this without sounding like a fool?" he said with an exasperated breath. "You'd think it would be easier, but every time I'm around you, I feel as if my head's about to explode. I-I can't think straight."

"It's all right, Ali," she replied, a small smile on her lips as she reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. He stared down at their conjoined hands for a long moment, then taking a deep breath before leveling her with a serious gaze.

"Here's the thing: being near you makes me crazy, but I can't imagine being without you. Not ever." Her smile grew and her heart warmed at his words. Alistair hesitated before continuing, briefly looking away again before returning his gaze to hers, speaking quieter this time. "I don't know how to say this another way. I want to spend the night with you. Maybe this is too fast, I don't know, but… I know what I feel."

Isabel gasped, unsure how to respond. "Why now?" she asked, trying to understand where this all was coming from. "Why not before? Why not later?"

"I wanted to wait for the perfect time, the perfect place… but when will it be perfect? If things were, we wouldn't even have met," he said softly. He huffed, the corners of his lips quirking up into a tiny smile. "We sort of… stumbled into each other, and despite this being the least perfect time, I still found myself falling for you in between all the fighting and everything else." Alistair stepped closer to her, squeezing her hand in his own. "I love you, Isabel," he breathed, holding none of his feelings back. "I don't want to wait anymore. I want this to be with you… while we have the chance. In case…"

"Don't talk like that," she snapped, her voice trembling as she jerked her hand away from his. She took a step back from him, fear bubbling up inside her at his words. "There will always be time later."

"But will there?" he asked, furrowing his brow. "Maker's breath, Izzy, you almost died, not even a month ago! Next time it could be me!"

"No," she breathed, her eyes wide. Alistair moved closer to her, lifting his hand to her face, cupping her cheek gently. Isabel leaned into his touch, blinking back tears as she stared up into his amber eyes.

"I'm not saying that one of us is going to die tomorrow, but… I'd like to say that I threw caution to the wind at least once."

She pulled away from him again, narrowing her eyes at him. "Is that really why you want to do this?" she asked. "You come in here and think about our last night here, and all of a sudden you want to sleep with me because you're afraid you won't have the chance if we wait?"

"I don't mean it like _that_. I mean… all right, let me start over," he replied nervously. "Yes, it would be nice not to die a virgin… and you're beautiful, of course…" Isabel quirked an eyebrow at him, shooting him a glare. He sighed, fully aware that he was botching his attempt at an explanation. "I love you, Isabel. I don't want to waste another minute I have with you," he breathed. "Now that we're back and we're safe… I want to _show_ you what you mean to me."

"You're serious about this," she muttered, and he nodded.

"Yes," he replied, his gaze boring into hers. Alistair tucked her hair behind her ear, lightly trailing his fingers over her face as he pulled his hand back. "I'm ready… if you are."

Isabel took a deep breath, chewing on her lower lip as she thought about the choice before her. She knew Alistair wouldn't get angry with her if she said no—he wasn't that type of person. She wanted to say yes, Maker, she _really _wanted to say yes, but she still had some concerns that prevented her from doing so.

"I want this, I do… so much," she breathed. "I've thought about it more times than I can count, I've thought about _you_…" She huffed, her eyes darting to the floor before returning to his. "I just… I'm scared, Ali. Not of actually doing it… I'm scared of what this means for us _emotionally_.

"This is a big step. It's not something to be taken lightly," she continued. Alistair went to speak, but she cut him off, knowing what was going to come out of his mouth before he said it. "I know you're not taking it lightly. For you, this is an act of love, and for me… I always wanted it to be that, too… it's just… I don't…"

"You don't love me?" Alistair murmured, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

"What? No, it's not that, I—"

"So you _do_ love me?"

"You said I didn't have to say it back," Isabel muttered, furrowing her brows.

"So you do love me, you just won't say it?" he asked, his eyebrow arching in question.

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't say _anything_."

"_Alistair_," she warned, glaring at him.

He sighed, scratching the back of his neck before tentatively moving towards her. Isabel went to cross her arms over her chest, but he caught her wrists, sliding his hands down to hers where he laced their fingers together. She let him hold her hands, the way his thumbs soothingly stroked her starting to settle the worry whirling inside her.

"I know the thought of losing someone else you love scares you," he started. "But I only ask because… well, I'm pretty sure you love me. I mean, I _think_ so… Maker, I _hope _so… a little reassurance that I'm not making this up would be nice…"

"Alistair," she breathed, his name getting stuck in her throat as her chest tightened.

"I know that I said you didn't have to say it, and you don't… but if you _feel_ it, if you _do_ love me…" He let out a deep breath, his gaze sweeping over her face before returning to her eyes. "I would want to know if you did before we went through with this."

"So now you don't want to do this because I haven't said if I love you or not?" Isabel asked dryly.

"No, I—_Maker_, I'm making a mess of this, aren't I?" Alistair sighed, giving her hands a brief squeeze. "Isabel, I love you, so much. And I do want to do this, _because_ I love you… but I don't want you to feel pressured into agreeing to it if you don't love me. I want _you_ to know how you feel before we do this… and when you do know… I'll be here for you."

Alistair released her hands and caressed her face, pressing a kiss to her forehead before brushing past her. Isabel turned, still processing his words as she watched him make his way to the door.

"You're leaving?" she muttered, her voice small.

"I think it's for the best," he said, facing her.

"You won't even sleep here? We haven't slept apart since before the Deep Roads…"

"I don't want to risk doing something one, or both, of us will regret." He offered her a small smile. "It was too soon to bring any of this up. I should have kept my thoughts to myself, I'm sorry."

Stunned, Isabel could only watch as he continued towards the door. Everything he had said was racing through her mind as she tried to sort through her own thoughts.

Maker damn him, but he was _right_. She could deny it all she wanted, but Isabel already knew she loved Alistair. It was saying it, making it _real_—that's what frightened her. There would be no turning back after that. Until then, she could fool herself into thinking she wasn't as emotionally invested in him as she already was. So she kept her mouth shut.

Everything would be fine.

But it _wouldn't_.

Because she _loved_ him.

"Alistair, wait," she whispered, her voice trembling. He froze at the sound, closing her door again before slowly turning to face her, his brows knit together as he curiously stared at her. "You're right… I do," she continued, unable to meet his gaze.

"You do? You do, what?" he asked, confused, and she took a deep breath and finally looked him in the eyes. His jaw dropped as he understood what she meant, his eyes going wide as he inhaled sharply. "Oh, you do?"

"Yes," she answered with a nod, almost squeaking the word out. Isabel blinked back tears, a shaky breath escaping her lips. "I… I love you, Alistair. It terrifies me, but I love you."

The grin that lit his face was stunning, his eyes shining with such love and adoration for her. He cupped either side of her face with his hands, a laugh bubbling up from his chest.

"Maker's breath, Izzy, I love you, too," he said, sounding so relieved. He kissed her, and she could _feel_ his love for her in the kiss. Isabel finally let herself do the same, holding nothing back, letting the true magnitude of her feelings wash over her. When Alistair pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers with a smile, taking a few moments to collect himself. "Don't be scared of this, love," he murmured. "We _love_ each other. As long as we have that… what could really go wrong?" His smile disappeared as he frowned, sending a pang of fear through her. "Well, actually, a lot of things could go wrong…"

Isabel snorted something between a laugh and a whine at his attempted joke. "That doesn't help."

"No, I suppose it doesn't," he said with an uneasy chuckle. Alistair sighed, giving her a small, lopsided smile as he stared at her. "Don't be scared," he pleaded. "Whatever the world throws at us, we'll face together. We've made it _this_ far."

"I almost died, remember? It could be _you_ next time," Isabel muttered, echoing his earlier statements.

"I know, love, I know," he said, pursing his lips together. "I can't promise you something like that won't happen again… but I can promise that I will love you, and care for you, and be here for you, as long as I live." He swallowed hard, his gaze burning into hers. "Isabel… you have my heart, and I hope… I hope you can trust me with yours."

She huffed and bit her lip, her heart swelling at his words. "You have it," she breathed.

Alistair smiled at her, that wonderful lopsided grin of his. "Then I shall treasure it as if it were my own."

Isabel snorted again, biting back laughter. "Stop trying to be poetic and _kiss_ me."

"As you wish, my love," he replied, still grinning.

She let out a giggle, the sound soon silenced as he brought his lips down to hers.

* * *

One kiss led to another, and another, things heating up between the two Wardens. Their hands grasped at each other as they held each other close, soft sighs escaping their lips as they moved against each other. Alistair pulled back, almost out of breath, shooting Isabel a questioning look.

"Are we…?"

"Yes," she muttered before kissing him, knowing exactly what he asked. She lifted his shirt, sliding it up his torso as he lifted his arms and broke the kiss, allowing her to pull it over his head. Isabel went to kiss him again, but he stopped her, pulling his head back the slightest bit as she leaned closer. She looked at him, her brows furrowed as she studied him.

"I don't want to rush this," he murmured, his eyes burning into hers. She relaxed, nodding and biting her lip at the intensity of his gaze. She watched as he took her hand in his, his thumb kneading her palm before he lifted it, pressing a tender kiss to the inside of her wrist. He slowly kissed up the inside of her arm, pushing the sleeves of her shirt upwards as he moved. Each press of his lips and scrape of his beard sent shivers down her spine, her eyes closing as gooseflesh pleasantly settled over her skin.

When he reached the top of her arm he moved behind her, brushing her hair away from her shoulder before gently unlacing the ties at the top of her shirt so he could tug it down to hang off of her shoulder. He kissed her there, too, soft, open-mouthed kisses blending with little nips and flicks of his tongue as he made his way up her neck, his fingers tracing aimless shapes over her sides and stomach underneath her shirt.

"I love you," he whispered, and she smiled to herself.

"I love you, too," she replied, and he buried his face in her neck, a smile on his lips as well. His fingers kept moving over her skin beneath her shirt, and she squirmed as they came dangerously close to the underside of her breast. She didn't know if that was on purpose or not.

Isabel whirled around, looking him right in the eye as she pulled off her shirt in one fluid motion, dropping the fabric at her side. Alistair's gaze immediately dropped to her bare chest, his eyes wide and his cheeks beginning to blush as he took her in. She thought she should have felt nervous and vulnerable standing there half naked, but she didn't—it was almost impossible to feel like that when he was staring at her like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

Alistair's gaze drifted to the scar on her right shoulder, a reminder of their journey in the Deep Roads. He stepped forward, honed in on the scar as his hands found her hips, thumbs softly stroking her skin as his tongue darted out to lick his lips. He dipped his head, his mouth finding her shoulder as he pressed a gentle kiss to the scar, his hands slowly sliding up from her hips to her breasts.

She gasped as he tentatively fondled them, his lips still planting little kisses to her shoulder. It was nothing like the way he'd touched her that one night they had almost given in to their desires for one another—this was gentle and soft, but _sweet Maker_ did it feel just as good as that one night, if not _better_. Isabel fisted her hands at her side, pushing her breasts into his hands as he rubbed his fingers across her skin, jolts of pleasure shooting through her when his thumbs brushed over her nipples.

He stopped kissing her scar, a strangled noise ripped from the back of her throat as his mouth replaced one of his hands, closing around the peak of her breast. Isabel's hands flew up, her fingers of one hand twisted in his hair, the others digging into his shoulder, encouraging his ministrations. Her entire body warmed as he continued working her with tongue and lips, her knees growing weak and her breaths coming in short pants. He switched his attention to her other breast, and she swore her heart was going to burst with how loud and fast it pumped in her chest.

When Alistair pulled back, she fluttered her eyes open and looked down to meet his heated gaze. He was kneeling before her, his hands stroking her back as he held her close.

Funny, she didn't even register him getting down there.

Isabel didn't have time to ponder the thought, his lips finding her skin again as he kissed down her stomach, her muscles tightening and quivering at every touch. He brought his hands to the ties of her pants, lingering there as he pulled back and met her gaze again, silently asking her permission to continue. She nodded, and he swallowed hard as he nervously fumbled with the ties. She could see him growing frustrated when he was unable to untie them, so she placed her hands over his.

Alistair sighed, allowing her to assist him until her pants were finally open. Together they pulled them down over her rear and past her thighs, until they released them and they pooled at her feet. He raked his eyes over her legs from ankles to thighs, seeming utterly amazed at the sight of them. Still kneeling before her, Alistair nudged her back to sit on the bed, and she did, leaning back and resting her weight on her elbows as she watched him.

He took her leg, planting a kiss on her ankle before starting to kiss up her calf and over the inside of her thigh, just as he did with her arm. His kisses were so slow and deep, growing more torturous the closer he got to the apex between her thighs. She tried to sit still but _couldn't_, heat pooling in her belly as she wriggled on the edge of the bed. She needed to do _something_, she couldn't just sit there completely overwhelmed by him anymore.

Isabel breathed his name, trying to get his attention, but he didn't hear her, too focused on his task. She threaded her hand in his hair, grasping at the short strands as she pulled his head back. That got his attention, and the moment he looked up at her she grabbed either side of his face and drew him into a kiss.

She stood up, pulling him up with her, stepping around him as they kissed until the back of his legs hit the bed. She broke their intense kiss, her lips traveling over his jaw to his neck and down to his chest. She ran her hands over his various muscles as her lips found _his_ nipple, enjoying the way he trembled beneath her fingertips when her tongue flicked out to tease him. With a grin, she continued kissing her way down his abdomen, following the line of hair that led from his navel down to the top of his pants.

She crouched before him, asking his permission to continue with a look, and he nodded, his chest heaving, amber eyes dark as he met her gaze. Isabel swiftly untied his pants, pulling them down before placing her hand on his chest and pushing him back to sit on the bed.

She climbed on top of him, both of them moaning as she straddled him, their smalls the only thing keeping them from fully joining with each other. She could feel his need for her as she ground her hips against his as they kissed, their hands groping, feeling, and touching everywhere they could possibly reach.

"Izzy, I need—" Alistair's words were cut off with a groan as he pressed his hips up against hers, his fingers digging into her skin hard enough to bruise. "I'm not going to…" he breathed, trying to get the words out.

She understood what he was trying to say, could _see _just how much she was affecting him in the way his body was flushed, a hungry look in his eyes. Isabel stood up, taking his hand and pulling him up off the bed as well. She stood right before him, staring into his eyes as she hooked her fingers over the top of his smalls. She kept her eyes on his as she pushed them down and let them fall to the floor.

Alistair did the same, his fingers lingering on her hips before he hooked them over the hem of her smalls and pulled them down, hers joining his on the floor. They both stepped out of their smalls, slightly moving apart from each other to take a look at one another.

He was strong and sculpted, covered in muscle from head to toe. She didn't know where to look, her eyes darting over his revealed body, eventually settling between his legs. She had never seen a man up close and obviously aroused, and she couldn't help but stare for a moment. When she pulled her eyes away, she noted that his posture indicated that he was nervous, his fingers twitching as he held his arms at his side. A light sheen of sweat covered his skin, his hair unkempt and cheeks red from their activities up to that point. Seeing him like this… there was something about it that clawed at her heart…

He was beautiful.

Alistair was looking at her too, his mouth hanging open as he observed her, that utterly amazed look in his eyes again. "Maker's breath, you're beautiful," he whispered, and she snorted a laugh, much to his dismay.

"You read my mind," she murmured.

"What?" he asked, still nervous he'd done something wrong. Isabel just kissed him, a moan escaping his lips when his length pressed against her hip. She immediately pulled back, her eyes darting down again. Without thinking, she reached out and lightly ran her fingers over him, a strangled groan escaping the back of his throat.

Alistair breathed her name, a sense of urgency in his tone. She whispered an apology as she planted a kiss on his neck, his fingers curling against her waist. She took one of his hands in hers, pulling him along as she stepped around him so her back was to the bed. She sat down, tugging him with her, and shuffled upwards as he climbed over her, supporting himself on his forearms. He didn't take his eyes off of hers as he settled between her legs, both Wardens hitching a breath when they came close to brushing up against each other.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked, resting his forehead against hers, their chests pressed together as they panted.

"Yes," she answered, confidently. "Are you?"

"_Maker_, yes," he said, and she let out a light laugh before kissing him deeply. Alistair reached between them, taking himself in his hand, hesitating.

"Do it," she breathed, and he nodded, lining himself up and pushing inside her.

He groaned, the sound emanating from deep in his chest, and she gasped, biting her lip as her fingers dug into his shoulders, their eyes closed tight as their foreheads pressed together. Neither of them moved once his hips were flush against hers, their breaths ragged and uneven, tears prickling at the corner of her eyes. He shifted, started to pull back out, and she grabbed his rear, holding him still.

Alistair fluttered his eyes open, concern in his gaze when he saw her. "What's w-wrong?" he asked, his voice strained and shaky, pleasure written all over his face. "Did I h-hurt you? Do y-you want to s-stop?"

"I'm fine," she answered, her words barely more than a breath. "Just… give me a moment to adjust."

He nodded, unable to say much else, waiting for her signal to continue. It's not that it was painful or uncomfortable, it was just… weird. It was something that was going to take some getting used to. It was… different.

Isabel nudged her lips forward, nuzzling against his face until he kissed her, his movements uncoordinated and sloppy. Their kisses grew more intense, as they often did, her hand sliding up his back as she lightly dragged her fingernails over his skin.

"Move," she whispered against his lips, and he did as she said, pulling almost all the way out and pushing back in again, both Wardens groaning in unison at the feeling. Over and over he slowly thrust into her, the unusual sensation becoming more and more pleasurable. Soon enough Isabel was bucking her hips up to meet his as they moved together as one.

Their kisses devolved into nothing, the two unable to concentrate on such a thing, too preoccupied with the feeling of their bodies joining. She was gone, lost in the feeling of his sweat-slick body pressed against her, the feeling of him _inside_ her… the way he sounded when he moaned her name… his scent… _all of him_.

They buried their faces in each other's necks, gasping,grunting, panting, and moaning as they moved. Alistair picked up the pace and she raked her fingernails over his back again, harder this time, arching up against him.

"Don't stop," she breathed in his ear, heat coiling in her stomach as her release slowly built up. He moved faster, harder, until he stilled, buried deep within her, spilling his release inside her. He bowed his head against her own, loudly groaning her name as his he gripped her hip tightly. She held him close as he rode out the waves of pleasure from his climax, her own pleasure fizzing away before it had a chance to peak.

Alistair collapsed into a boneless heap against her, barely remembering not to crush her. He wrapped his arms around her as best as he could, resting his forehead against hers as his wild heartbeat visibly thumped in the vein of his neck. Isabel looked into his eyes, and he seemed worried and embarrassed.

"I love you," he said, his voice raspy from exertion, and she held either side of his face, her thumbs stroking his cheeks as she nuzzled his face.

"I love you, too," she said softly, and he exhaled in relief, pressing a tired kiss to her lips. When he pulled back he seemed disappointed again.

"You didn't…"

She shook her head, understanding where his dissatisfied emotions were coming from. Isabel soothingly ran her fingers through his hair, offering him a small smile. "We have lots of time to practice," she murmured. "It'll happen next time." He furrowed his brow, and she could see an idea brewing in his mind. "Alistair, what is it?"

He didn't answer her, instead pressing a tender kiss to her lips, one of his hands coming up to cradle her face. She didn't feel the other one slide down her body until he slipped it between them. He didn't find what he was looking for right away, but when he did, she lurched against him, a moan slipping past her lips as she grasped onto him.

Isabel breathed his name desperately as he moved his fingers over her, burying her face in his neck as she held him tight, pleasure reigniting within her body. It didn't take long until she was right where she was before, and soon after that she was close to the edge, her skin on fire, her heart speeding inside her chest as she writhed against him. Alistair was kissing her neck, his lips finding her sensitive collarbone, and she lost it when his teeth lightly grazed her there.

She heard his breath get stuck in his throat as she arched against him, his name leaving her lips as she tensed around him, her body shaking with her release. Her head buzzed with the aftershocks of her climax as she slowly came down from her high. Alistair pressed little kisses to her face, until he planted a final kiss to her lips before pulling out and rolling off of her, plopping down on the bed right next to her.

They both stared up at the ceiling as they regained their breath and let their heartbeats return to normal. Alistair huffed, and when Isabel turned to look at him he was smiling up at the ceiling like a fool.

"_That_…" he glanced to her, "_you_…" he looked back to the ceiling. "That was _amazing_." She let out a light laugh and a content sigh, smiling to herself as he rolled onto his side. He propped his head up on his hand, looking at her with furrowed brows. "Was it good for you, too?"

Isabel turned to face him, mirroring his position as she held her head up with her hand and shot him a wry smile. "Were you not there for that last bit?" she asked, watching him blush. "Yes, Ali, it was good for me, too."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "You're not just saying that, right?"

She shifted herself closer to him, lightly running her fingers through the hair on his chest. "Of course not. I would tell you if I didn't enjoy myself. But I _did_, so no worries."

"Good to know," he said with a laugh, snaking his arm around her waist.

"But I do have one thing I would like to point out," Isabel started, his eyes widening. "I did _not_ expect you to know how to use your fingers so well."

Alistair blushed a deeper shade of crimson, looking away before meeting her gaze again. "Oh… _that_…"

"Yes, _that_," she said. "It was a _very_ pleasurable surprise, indeed." His face lit up, and he smiled lopsidedly at her, pleased with himself. "And I doubt you learned such a thing in the Chantry…"

"No, no, no," he said, chuckling. "In fact, I should have been struck by lightning by now, according to all the sisters at the monastery."

Isabel couldn't help but laugh. "Is that so?"

"Yep. Lightning first, then the end of civilization as we know it." Alistair shot her a devious grin. "I'm a bad, bad man."

"You are anything but _bad_," she replied with a light laugh. "You were quite wonderful."

"_Wonderful_?" he asked incredulously. "I don't know about _that_."

"Wonderful," she repeated, giving him a serious look.

He huffed, smiling bashfully at her. "Well, I can't take all the credit for that. The other Grey Wardens used to talk…"

"Bragging about their conquests, no doubt."

"Yes. It was a way to pick up on things I never learned in the Chantry."

"In that case, thank the Maker for the Wardens and their talk of conquests," Isabel said with a grin, and he laughed, nodding at her. When his laughter died down, he kissed her, softly and tenderly, his hand coming up to caress her cheek.

"I love you, Isabel," he said quietly, staring right into her eyes. "I love you so much."

"I know." Excitement shot through her at his words, her heart swelling in her chest. "I love you, too, Alistair." she whispered, lightly running her fingers over his jaw as he beamed at her.

"See? Was that so hard?" he teased, and she snorted, rolling her eyes at him. He laughed at her and she shook her head, lightly shoving him in the shoulder before cuddling up next to him, nestling her face in the crook of his neck. He curled his arm around her, holding her close, and she sighed, content in his arms.

"Goodnight, Ali," she murmured, sleep starting to take ahold of her.

"Night, Izzy," he said back, yawning. She smiled to herself as his steady breaths and the thump of his heart lulled her to sleep.


	7. First Knight

**First Knight**

* * *

Everything about her—the way she moans his name, the way she looks lying beneath him, her scent—is _overwhelming_, but it's the way she feels that sends him into a frenzy, desperately chasing his release as they move together.

Her fingernails scraping down his back, her soft skin pressed flush against his as she arches towards him, her warm, shallow breath in his ear—it all pushes him closer to the edge. And the way she feels wrapped around him—_Maker_, she feels better than he ever imagined, and he _can't take it anymore_.

He tumbles over the edge, eyes shut tight, bowing his head against hers as he loudly groans her name. He tenses as his fingers dig into her skin, and he would have been concerned about hurting her if he wasn't dizzy with the most mind-numbing pleasure he's ever experienced.

When the initial feeling passes, he collapses into a boneless heap against her, barely remembering not to crush her. He wraps his arms around her and presses his forehead against hers, his wild heartbeat raging in his ears. He mutters an "I love you" between heavy breaths, both as a testament of his love for her and as an apology. He finished too fast, and he's pretty sure she never got there, so he's ruined their first time together. He was too blinded by how_good_ she felt to make sure she was enjoying it herself, and now the warm afterglow spreading through his body is tinged with guilt.

But she just holds either side of his face, her thumbs stroking his cheeks as she nuzzles his face with hers. And when "I love you, too" slips past her lips, he exhales in relief, his heart doing somersaults in his chest.

_She loved him._ Now that… _that_ was the best feeling in the world.


	8. Reassurances

**Reassurances**

* * *

They were supposed to be watching the camp while everyone slept, but instead they were lying on the edge of camp, looking up at the stars, content to simply be in each other's presence.

Isabel sighed, biting back a smile. She was just so _happy_. There was a long period of time when she thought she'd never be happy again, and then Alistair had waltzed into her life. They'd both been so broken and damaged, but they slowly helped each other rebuild the pieces of their shattered hearts… and she'd handed him her heart in the process.

She loved him. By the Maker, she was completely and utterly in love with him. And it was _wonderful_.

"Ali?" she whispered, turning to look at him. She giggled when she found him already staring at her, a lopsided smile on his handsome face. Isabel couldn't restrain her smile now, and she grinned at him, rolling onto her side to face him. He shifted onto his side, looping his arm around her waist to keep her close. "I love you," she murmured, lightly running her fingers across his face.

Alistair beamed at her, just as he had when she'd first admitted it. "I know," he said, clearly excited, and she huffed, embarrassed.

"I'm so sorry I made you wait to hear me say that." She swallowed hard, not meeting his eyes. "I… I just couldn't—"

"I know," he repeated, somberly this time. Isabel had been so scared to confess her feelings for him, even after he'd told her that he loved her. She lost everyone she ever loved, and the thought of that happening again petrified her. It still did. "Izzy… look at me, love."

She returned her gaze to his, trailing her thumb over his lips. He took her hand and held it still as he pressed a gentle kiss to each of her fingertips, the sweet gesture bringing a small smile back to her face. He laced their fingers together as he rested his forehead against hers, still staring at her with his unwavering, amber gaze.

"I love you, too," he said softly. "I will always love you, no matter what tries to tear us apart."

"But what if—"

"But, nothing," he interrupted. "We've made it this far. I have to believe we'll make it through the Blight."

"And after the Blight?" she breathed, letting herself believe that he was right.

Alistair chuckled, shooting her that dopey grin that made her heart melt. "I intend to spend my days eating as much cheese as I desire… with you at my side, of course."

Isabel snorted a laugh, rolling her eyes at him. She sighed and bit her lip, that sense of happiness bubbling up in her chest again.

"I love you," she repeated, and he nuzzled her face.

"Say it again," he muttered, his stubble tickling her skin.

"I love you."

Isabel was smiling when his lips met hers, and she fluttered her eyes closed as she returned the tender kiss. Her fears were the farthest thing from her mind; the only thing she felt was her love for him, and how much he loved her back. And that was all she truly needed to get through the Blight.


	9. A Proper Bath

**A Proper Bath**

* * *

When the towers of Redcliffe Castle came into view on the horizon, the relief on Isabel's face was immediate. Them and their companions had spent more than a week on the road, and before that an entire month in the Deep Roads, and they were all ready to spend the remainder of the day resting and recovering in a familiar safe haven.

Alistair lifted Isabel's hand to his mouth, their fingers intertwined together, and planted a kiss to the back of her gloved hand. Looking up at him she smiled—a tired, weary quirk of her lips, but a smile nonetheless.

"Just think, love," he started, leaning in closer to her, "we get to sleep in a big, comfortable bed tonight."

Isabel hummed in delight, her eyes slipping closed for a brief moment. "Maker, I can't wait," she sighed. She turned her gaze on him, mischief alighting her eyes as her lips curled into a wry smile. "I think the best part about it all is that there won't be any pointy rocks to roll me onto if we have sex."

Alistair's eyes widened, heat blooming in his cheeks. "That was an _accident_…"

"You should have paid more attention to where you put the bedroll."

"I was a little distracted," he protested, trying to stop blushing.

Isabel snorted a laugh. "A _little_ distracted? I only distract you a little?" As if to make a point, she started walking with this _sway_ in her hips, his gaze instantly drawn downwards.

"Maker's breath, Izzy," he muttered, nervously scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. "You distract me _a lot_."

"A wonderful thing, really. I do love it when you blush like that." She picked up her pace until she was practically dragging him along with her towards the castle. "Come on, we're almost there and I want to distract you even more."

Alistair swallowed hard, the warmth in his face reaching the tip of his ears as he thought about what _that_ would entail, and he didn't hesitate to move faster, extremely interested in finding out what she had in store for him.

Shortly after the group's arrival in the castle, Alistair found himself locked in a bathing room with Isabel, stripped of his armor and underclothes. He had never bathed with a woman before—he had never bathed with _her_ before—and he wasn't sure if they were actually going to bathe or do things of a… _dirtier_ nature.

All thoughts left his mind when Isabel brushed past him in all her naked glory, heading for the tub. Stopping before she stepped in the water, she reached up and started to undo the bun her hair was wrapped in, setting the pins aside on a small table near the bath. He watched, enthralled by her every movement as she gracefully plucked out the pins one by one before running her fingers through the remaining braid. When she finished she shook out her hair, the raven waves spilling over her shoulders, his fingers twitching at his side at the urge to run his hands through her hair.

Isabel stepped into the bath, closing her eyes and releasing a content sigh as she lowered herself into the steaming water. She cracked one eye open at him, a small smile on her lips.

"Are you going to stand there and watch me all day or are you going to come join me?" she asked, and Alistair huffed. _Of course_ she knew he was watching her. Doing as he was told, he stepped into the bath, water sloshing over the side of the tub as he settled in the tub opposite to her. She opened her other eye and beamed at him, and he couldn't resist smiling back. "It's about time," she said, lifting her foot above the water and bopping him on the nose with her toe. He chuckled, grabbing ahold of her ankle, pressing a kiss to the sole of her foot. Squealing, she jerked her foot back as she burst into laughter. "Alistair, that tickles!"

A very unladylike snort slipped into her giggles and he joined her in laughter until they both calmed down. He met her gaze, yet another smile on her lips.

"You seem happy," he mused.

"I _am_ happy," she announced. "I'm _finally_ taking a proper bath, I'm going to eat a real meal later, and like you mentioned earlier, I get to sleep in an actual bed tonight… and the best part is that I get to do it all with _you_." At her words, Alistair's heart warmed, a grin spreading across his face. Isabel chewed on her lower lip, biting back a smile before sitting up and leaning forward, gesturing to the table beside the bath. "First things first, we need to get nice and squeaky clean. Pass me that bar of soap and that washcloth and get over here."

Alistair handed her the soap and the cloth and scooted forward as she got to work lathering up the washcloth with suds before beginning to wash him. They maneuvered around the confined space of the tub, taking turns washing each other until every inch of them had been scrubbed clean. By the time they finished, half the water was on the floor around the bath, but neither of them cared, not wanting to leave each other's company just yet.

They sat in the remaining water in comfortable silence, Alistair sitting between Isabel's legs, her arms wrapped around him from behind. She rested her cheek on his shoulder, her fingers tracing over the fresh scar from the near-fatal wound he suffered just a handful of days ago. As much as he loved holding her in his arms, he was content to be locked in her embrace, simply resting his arms over hers.

"I love you, Alistair," she mumbled into his shoulder, her voice quiet as she hugged him tighter, as if she were afraid he would disappear otherwise. "I love you so much."

"I—"

His response was cut off when his stomach growled, his apparent hunger making itself known. Isabel giggled, and he could feel her chest heaving against his back as she laughed.

"Dinner should be ready by now. We should go before your stomach complains some more." She punctuated her statement with a soft kiss to his shoulder, and then disentangled herself from him and stood up. Before she stepped out of the tub, Alistair grabbed her wrist, drawing her attention back to him.

"Isabel?"

"Yes?"

"I love you, too."


	10. Scratches

**Scratches**

* * *

Isabel sat next to Alistair on a broken log, as she and Wynne unbuckled the straps of his armor. Wynne was calm, her movements patient and precise, unlike Isabel. She wasn't as composed, her shaking hands frantically trying to unbuckle the familiar fastenings on his armor. It shouldn't have been so _hard_, she'd unbuckled his armor so many times before, but she couldn't get past the _blood_ pouring out of his shoulder where an arrow was sticking out of it. She knew the injury wasn't immediately life threatening, but she couldn't get the thought out of her mind that _something_ would go wrong.

They carefully peeled off all the heavy metal from Alistair's torso, cautiously removing his undershirt without jostling the arrow, leaving him shirtless. Isabel bit her lip as she watched Wynne grab the arrow's shaft, preparing to push it through his shoulder so she could properly get it out.

"Ready?" she asked, and Alistair nodded curtly, bracing himself. He grunted in pain as she pushed the arrow into his shoulder, the arrowhead coming out of his back. Wynne snapped it off and then pulled the rest of the arrow back through from the front, tossing the bloody thing aside. She dabbed at the wound with a clean towel, attempting to staunch the blood flow until she could heal it.

Alistair glanced towards Isabel, his amber eyes meeting hers, a tinge of trepidation in his gaze. Even after months of having Wynne around to heal everyone's injuries, he was still uncomfortable with magic being used on him. Isabel always provided the little bit of extra support he needed to get through it.

She forced herself to smile, taking his hand and lacing her fingers with his. He leaned towards her and she rested her forehead against his, nuzzling his face. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath that tickled her lips when he exhaled.

"Do it," he muttered, and a moment later he was squeezing her hand as Wynne healed the arrow wound. Isabel knew the moment it was over, because he relaxed, sighing and leaning against her. She pressed a kiss to his cheek, and he opened his eyes, smiling at her.

"Wynne, it seems you have missed a spot," came Zevran's voice. Both Wardens turned to the source, finding the assassin sitting in Wynne's vacant seat on the other side of Alistair. Wynne stood next to the log, quirking an eyebrow at him.

"And what is it I have missed?" she asked, coming around to stand behind Alistair.

"He didn't get hurt anywhere else, did he?" Isabel said quickly, sitting back and sweeping her gaze over Alistair's chest and abdomen, then moving so she could see his back. Her eyes landed on what she suspected Zevran was going on about, and once she saw the other man's smirk, she knew she guessed right.

"What? What is it?" Alistair asked, craning his head around to try and see what the three of them were staring at.

"It's nothing, Ali," Isabel began, her fingers lightly tracing over scratch marks she'd accidentally left on his back.

"Someone got a little carried away last night, hmm?" Zevran said, Wynne shaking her head and rolling her eyes.

"Carried away? What do you mean—" Alistair stopped speaking, his eyes wide with the realization of what they were talking about. He swallowed hard, that adorable blush of his creeping onto his cheeks. "Oh, Maker," he groaned, slouching forwards.

Isabel bit back a grin, and Wynne shot her and Zevran a disapproving look. "Would you like me to heal them, Alistair?"

He went to answer her, but Zevran spoke first. "I don't think we should expose the poor man to _more_ magic…"

"And besides, they can be a reminder of last night," Isabel added, unable to contain her grin any longer.

"I don't think _any_ of us will forget last night," Zevran started, smirking. "You two are not as quiet as you think you are, especially you, my good friend Alistair." He groaned again, blushing even more, the tips of his ears turning red. Isabel and Zevran laughed, and he buried his face in his hands, shaking his head.

Wynne sighed at their immature antics, offering her healing services to Alistair should he still want them before she took her leave. Zevran followed her, still snickering as he left the two Wardens alone.

When she regained her breath from laughing, Isabel started to gently rub his back, slowly feeling him relax under her touch.

"I'm sorry, Alistair, I couldn't resist," she murmured. "We can get Wynne to heal the marks if you're embarrassed." He sat up and met her gaze, a light blush still on his cheeks.

"I'm not embarrassed," he said, and she quirked an eyebrow at him. "I mean, I _am_, but I…" He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down at the ground. "I liked it." He gazed back at her sheepishly, his brow furrowing when he saw the devious glint in her eye and the way her lips had curled into a mischievous smile. "Izzy, why are you looking at me like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're going to drag me back to our tent and have your wicked, wicked way with me."

"Oh, I'm sorry, do you not like it when I have my wicked way with you?" she purred, sliding her hand up his chest before dragging her fingernails back down just a little harder than necessary. His breath hitched, his eyes momentarily fluttering closed before they opened again, his gaze boring right into hers.

"I love it when you have your wicked way with me," he growled, reaching to pull her into his arms. Isabel weaseled out of his grasp and hopped off of the log, batting her eyelashes at him. He flew out of his seat and she squealed when he grabbed her, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her close.

Alistair captured her lips in a heated kiss that slowly simmered down into something more tender. When he pulled back, she grinned at him, teasingly dragging her fingers down his abdomen.

"Let's help everyone finish setting up camp, and after dinner I'll let you drag me back to our tent, and then _you_ can have _your_ wicked way with _me_," she said, her voice low and seductive. "Who knows, maybe you'll end up with more scratch marks that you can show off tomorrow morning."

Alistair blushed again, and she giggled, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. She took his hand and started to drag him back to the center of camp before he stopped her. He turned her back around to face him, lightly caressing her cheek.

"I love you, Izzy," he breathed, a soft smile gracing his lips.

Isabel grinned and leaned into his touch, her heart warming inside her chest at his words. "I love you, too, Alistair. Always."


	11. A Brilliant Idea

**A Brilliant Idea**

if it's not clear, Bear is Isabel's mabari.

* * *

Isabel made herself comfortable as she sat and watched Alistair and Zevran spar. She suggested Alistair practice with the elf since he already knew her every move from fighting by her side for so long. She thought it would be a good idea for him to train with someone who's fighting style he wasn't used to, especially an assassin, just in case they ever came across more of them.

And it truly was a brilliant idea. Not only was Alistair picking up on new ways to strengthen his weaknesses, but Isabel was having the time of her life watching them fight—because, _Maker_, they had worked up a sweat and had taken their shirts off, giving her quite the view.

Zevran was pleasing to look at, her eyes taking in his tattoos and a various assortment of scars over his lean, defined muscles. He was a very handsome elf, and while she enjoyed observing his good looks and the agile way in which he moved, her gaze kept returning to her fellow Warden. Alistair was taller and bulkier than the other man, and it was easy to forget just how powerful and strong he was since he was usually so gentle, especially with her.

Isabel bit her lip as she watched his muscles shifting under his sweaty skin, flexing and relaxing as he moved. He was quite graceful for a man his size, every block with his shield and swipe of his sword fluid and precise. He was so serious and focused on what he was doing, his brows drawn together and his eyes narrowed as he assessed and responded to each of Zevran's strikes. Alistair already was a very handsome man, but there was something about seeing him in that way, so different from his normal, awkward and silly self, that mesmerized her. Isabel couldn't take her eyes off of him, even if she had wanted to.

The light from the setting sun hit them in such a way that the sweat was practically _glistening_on their skin. A particular bead of sweat on Alistair's chest caught her attention, and she just watched as it slid down his chest, over his abdomen, and past his navel, following the line of dark blond hair trailing down into the top of his pants. She didn't know where the thought came from, but she desperately wanted to lick that bead of sweat right off his torso.

That was _not_ something a proper lady should ever think, but Isabel had a weakness for handsome men, especially when they were in such a state. Even in the past she spent time appreciating sweaty male torsos, but never like _this_. It was always from a distance, never right out in the open and so unabashed as she was now. If her mother saw her like this she would be ashamed, and would no doubt giver her a stern lecture on propriety and maintaining her virtue—but she'd already lost her virtue, and she wasn't exactly a proper noble lady anymore.

She was a Grey Warden, in love with another Grey Warden, who happened to have a finely sculpted chest that looked _fantastic_ when sweaty. There was no need for propriety, and Isabel could think about whatever she desired.

And right now, that was Alistair.

With her internal crisis averted, she continued to openly stare at her beloved and attractive Warden, thoughts of licking the sweat off of his chest and the rest of his muscles returning to the forefront of her mind… as well as thoughts of licking _other_ things.

Isabel longed to feel Alistair's calloused hands sliding over her body, making her sigh and moan when he touched her in all the right places. She yearned to grasp his strong arms and the muscles of his back as he moved inside her, the familiar weight of his sweat-slick body pressing into hers. She wanted to run her fingers through his hair as he buried his face between her thighs, driving her into a frenzy until she was screaming his name…

She swallowed hard, very aware of how warm she had become, her entire body flushed at the un-ladylike thoughts of Alistair floating though her head. Andraste help her, she wanted to drag him back to the privacy of their tent so she could _really_ appreciate him. And she would have done it too, if the whole idea of him and Zevran sparring hadn't been _her_ idea in the first place. He was doing so well and she knew he enjoyed the practice, so she was stuck simply watching him, trying to ignore the way he grunted as he swung his sword, the deep sound reminding her of the grunts and groans he made when they were together.

It wasn't easy, and Maker, was she glad when they finished.

"So, what did you think?" Alistair asked, startling her. Isabel ripped her gaze from his chest and met his, a smile lighting up his face. "I think I'm covering my back more."

Zevran chuckled, grabbing his discarded shirt and wiping his face with it. "I don't think she was paying attention to your technique, my good friend Alistair," he said, smirking.

"No, no, it was good. You were very good," Isabel quickly muttered, standing up off the fallen log she had been sitting on. She took a deep breath and unconsciously licked her lips, gently placing her hand on Alistair's chest, right over his heart. "But, now that you're finally finished, I think we should retire to our tent for the night."

He understood the heated look in her eyes, his cheeks reddening as he began to blush. "Shouldn't I, uh… wash up first?" he murmured, scratching the back of his head. "Because, you know, I'm sweaty and gross and probably smell like wet dog?"

"You do smell like wet dog," Zevran interjected, wrinkling his nose before leaving the two Wardens alone.

Isabel snorted, biting back laughter before focusing her attention on Alistair. "You forget that Bear used to sleep with me every night before you stole his spot," she pointed out. "I'm used to the smell of wet dog." She reached up and pressed her lips to his, his hands finding her hips as hers traced over his chest. When she pulled back she shot Alistair a mischievous grin, teasingly running her fingers through the hair on his chest. "Besides, you're just going to get dirty all over again," she added, and his eyes widened in excitement.

"Right," he breathed, his lips curling into a lopsided smile. "I guess we'll just have to wash up afterwards… together, maybe."

"I like the sound of that," Isabel replied with a giggle. She pressed another kiss to his lips before dragging him off to the privacy of their tent, determined to enact every thought and fantasy that had gone through her mind.


	12. Amuse Me

**Amuse Me**

Drabble request: a funny drabble about my character trying to cheer yours up.

* * *

He wasn't surprised to find her sitting alone in front of the dying fire. He'd seen the way she longingly looked down the road to Highever during their travels earlier that day. Their proximity to her old home most likely prompted a nightmare about the night her family was massacred.

Isabel usually held herself like the highborn lady she was, but now she was slouching, blankly staring at the dim embers of the fire. Her hair was sticking out in all the wrong places, and the collar of his shirt that she wore hung lopsided off her shoulder. Alistair loved seeing her like this—well, not _upset_, but… disheveled. He was the only person who ever saw her in such a state and it made him feel… special.

He sat down next to her, and she jerked up, startled by his presence. Her brilliant green eyes landed on him, her brows furrowed.

"Did I wake you?"

Alistair shot her a lopsided smile. "You know it's impossible to wake me. I'd be sleeping through this entire Blight if I wasn't a Warden." She smiled briefly before her expression became serious again. Well, that wasn't the exact reaction he was going for. He'd hoped to at least make her laugh. "What's wrong?" he asked softly.

"What _isn't_ wrong," she started bitterly. "I'm exhausted, I'm hungry all the time, I'm in a constant state of filth, my feet hurt, my back hurts, my head hurts… _everything_ hurts." She let out an exasperated sigh, looking back to the fire. "I just want to go home and steal Nan's cookies with Oren, take a hot bath, say goodnight to my family, and sleep in my own bed." Isabel angrily wiped away a stray tear, blinking rapidly to hold the others at bay. "But I can't. They're all dead and Highever's gone."

"Isabel…"

"I'm sorry, Ali," she said, meeting his gaze again, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "I just miss them so much."

"I know you do," he replied, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and pulling her to his side. She wrapped her arms around him and nestled her head against his shoulder. "Don't be sorry about that."

She nodded against him and was quiet as he ran his fingers up and down her arm in an attempt to soothe her. Alistair felt her wet eyelashes flitting against his skin, and when she sniffled, teardrops dripped onto his chest. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to ignore the ticklish tingles it was causing him.

"What?" she asked, lifting her face off his chest. When he didn't reply right away, she quirked an eyebrow at him, waiting for his answer.

"You're tickling me," he said, almost embarrassed, a light blush creeping onto his cheeks. Isabel giggled, wiping the rest of her tears away before smiling at him. He smiled back; he couldn't help it, not when she was looking at him like that.

"Sorry," she said, stifling more laughter, "I didn't realize your _chest_ was ticklish."

"It's not that my chest is ticklish, your eyelashes were doing that _thing,"_ Alistair started, and she looked at him like he was crazy. "You know, when they flutter against you and make you ticklish."

Isabel snorted and laughed again, and even though she was laughing at him he was glad to hear it. The sound was music to his ears, and it always lit up her face in a way that made her look so beautiful—_more_ beautiful, really.

She let out a deep breath as she calmed down, tilting her head to the side as she stared at him, a small smile upon her lips. She brought her hand up to his face, her thumb stroking his cheek, and then she was kissing him, her lips soft and warm against his own.

"Thank you," she said when she pulled back. Isabel laced their fingers together, resting their conjoined hands on her lap. "Thank you for always being here for me."

"It's my job. I'm your knight in shining armor, remember?" Alistair said with a lopsided grin. "I'll bravely fight monsters to protect my lady and keep her safe. And happy." He started flailing around his free arm, pretending to fight off enemies, and Isabel started laughing again.

"If you're my loyal knight, does that make me a princess?" she asked. "I always wanted to be a princess when I was a little girl."

"If you're a princess, you'll have to be locked in a tower until I come and rescue you from the evil dragon."

"Locked up and helpless?" she said with a haughty huff, raising an eyebrow at him. "I don't think so. You're the royal one, _you_ can be locked up in the tower, _your Highness_."

Alistair grimaced at her words, which only provoked more giggles from his fellow Warden. He wanted nothing to do with his royal blood, fictional situation or otherwise… unless…

"Only if there's cheese in the tower," he stated. Isabel bit her lip, only to hold back more laughter. He grinned at her and she lost it, cracking-up after an unladylike snort. He joined in, chuckling alongside her, until their laughs eventually died down.

She rested her head against his shoulder, their fingers still twined together. "It's always cheese with you, isn't it?" she said as he started to rub his thumb over the back of her hand. "You know, sometimes I wonder if you love cheese more than you love me. If you had to choose between me or cheese, what would you do?"

"I'd choose the cheese, of course," he said, completely straight-faced, and Isabel sat up and shoved him in the arm.

"Very funny."

Alistair just grinned at her, and she rolled her eyes. He bumped her shoulder with his, and she bumped him back, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. He looked up and caught a glance of Shale watching over the camp, realizing they weren't as alone as he thought. He leaned closer to Isabel, warily watching the golem.

"We should probably head back to our tent," he whispered, gesturing to the camp's guardian. "Lest Shale decides she's sick of our laughter and decides to bash our heads in."

Isabel snorted a laugh before she brought her hand up to cover her mouth, her eyes wide. She glanced over to Shale, who seemed to be scowling—if golems could actually scowl.

"I think you're right," she said, quickly standing up and pulling him with her. They scurried back their tent as swiftly and quietly as they could, careful not to wake the others. Once they were inside, they rearranged their bedroll before climbing under the covers. They cuddled together, her head resting on Alistair's chest and their arms wrapped around each other. When they were comfortable, Isabel let out a deep sigh, her breath tickling his chest again. Alistair smiled to himself before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Hey, Izzy?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you," he said, his voice just above a whisper. "You know that, right?"

"Yes, I know," she murmured. "I love you, too." His smile grew wider at her words. "Goodnight, my brave knight."

"Night, my lady."


	13. The Bite

**The Bite**

A bit of info about this: Zathrian says that "the affliction is a curse that runs rampant in their blood." Because a Grey Warden's already got the taint in their blood, I headcanon that the two don't react very well together, and it speeds up the whole turning/dying in agony process of being bit by a werewolf.

* * *

He'd been bitten by a werewolf.

After everything they'd been through, that's how it was going to end. A werewolf bite.

Isabel panicked when she saw the bite mark and it's accompanying symptoms—symptoms that weren't supposed to show for a few days after the bite. Nonetheless, Alistair was sweaty, nauseous, and the pain from the wound was growing by the minute. Isabel wished Wynne was there to heal him, to help with his pain, to do _something_, but that stupid mist had appeared out of nowhere and they'd gotten separated from her and the rest of their companions.

By the time nightfall came, Alistair could barely travel anymore, so they made camp for the night. As soon as everything was set up, Isabel tried to help Alistair as best she could. She tried to get him to eat, but he couldn't look at food without wanting to retch. She tried to force healing potions down his throat to help with the pain, but he couldn't get those down either. She stripped his armor off, leaving him in in only his pants, wiping the sweat from his body.

His breathing was shallow and unsteady as she dabbed the drops of sweat on his forehead with a cloth, his lips pressed together and his brow wrinkled just the slightest bit. He was trying so hard not to show his pain, most likely for her own benefit, but Isabel knew him too well to be fooled by his brave front. He was hurting, and so was she.

"Will you hold me?" he asked, a desperate look in his amber eyes. His voice cracked, betraying the composed façade he presented. Isabel nodded, forcing herself to smile at him. She tossed the cloth aside, settling back against her bedroll. Alistair laid with her, his burning body at her side, resting his head on her chest, his arms tightly encircling her waist. She gently ran her fingers through his short hair, her other hand holding him close.

It was weird to be comforting him like this. They both had nightmares about the darkspawn and the archdemon, but hers were always worse—and they were usually mixed with horrible dreams of her murdered family. More often than not, Alistair was the one comforting her, not the other way around. There had been times when she held him like she did now, but it was still new to her… even after knowing him for months.

"My middle name is Haelia," Isabel murmured, pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.

"Haelia?"

"Yes, after Haelia Cousland," she replied. "Back during the Black Age she rallied the lords under her banner to rid their lands of werewolves. It earned her the title of Teyrna. Aldous, our historian, would tell us stories of her exploits against them." Isabel began to recite the stories, just as he always spoke to her to comfort her. Soon enough he seemed to feel better, relaxing his grip on her, his breaths steadying. "I guess it's fitting we're the ones dealing with werewolves now, considering my family's history," she finished, and he let out a weak laugh.

"I'm not surprised you're descended from such greatness," he muttered. "I guess you'll end up just like Haelia… it should be you…"

"What should be me?"

"I want you to be the one… to kill me… before I turn," he said, his voice barely audible.

Isabel bit her lip, blinking back the tears beginning to well in her eyes. "I'm not going to let that happen," she breathed.

"Oh, Izzy…" Alistair winced, momentarily digging his fingers into her skin as he fought back a wave of pain. "We're lost. The cure—"

"I'm not losing you, Alistair, not like this," she interrupted, trying to keep her voice steady. She couldn't fall apart _now_. "We'll find the others and then we'll find the cure. I'll rip Witherfang's heart out myself if I have to." She swallowed hard, holding him tighter. "I'm not losing you, too."

He shifted his head on her chest, meeting her gaze, staring at her for a long moment before trying to smile. "I love you, Isabel," he mumbled.

She sniffled, a knot forming in her throat from trying not to cry. "I love you, too," she replied, her voice wavering. "I'll fix this, I promise." He nodded, nestling his head back against her chest, and she resumed stroking his hair. "Don't worry about it, okay? Just try and get some sleep."

Alistair closed his eyes, eventually drifting off to sleep despite his symptoms. Isabel was jealous of the way he could almost sleep on command. When he didn't have any nightmares, he was such a heavy sleeper that he could probably sleep through an entire battle.

But Isabel wasn't going to sleep. Not when the man she loved was turning into a monster—a monster she'd have to kill. He was all she had left, her only family, and she couldn't lose him. She _couldn't_.


	14. Offer Me

**Offer Me**

Drabble Request: drabble about one character giving another a gift.

This takes place very soon after the Archdemon was killed. Also, Alistair was the one who proposed (awkwardly, of course) _after_ the Landsmeet.

* * *

Isabel fluttered her eyes open, the bright sunlight filtering through the windows blinding and blurring her vision. She rapidly blinked her eyes, darting her gaze around her unfamiliar surroundings. It took her a moment to recall the night before, but when she did, she smiled to herself.

She was in the king's bedchambers, specifically the king's very large and comfortable bed, with the future king himself pressed up against her back, his fingers tracing random shapes over her stomach. Isabel stretched, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before turning in his arms to face him, the soft, silky sheets feeling wonderful against her bare skin.

When she met his eyes he beamed at her, and she giggled. She snuggled closer to his warmth and let out a content sigh as he rearranged his arms around her, holding her close. Isabel could definitely get used to waking up like this.

"Gooood morning," Alistair chirped, his voice uncharacteristically cheery for so early in the day.

"Good morning to you, too," she replied, looking up at him and quirking an eyebrow at him in interest. She'd expected Alistair to be completely zonked out, like he was most mornings. Granted, it was the morning after they celebrated their reunion after killing the archdemon, but _still_. Even when he woke up first, he was always sleepy. He was never_this_ awake.

"I have something for you," he said, trying to hide his excitement. Isabel quirked an eyebrow at him and he rolled over, reaching inside the drawer of the nightstand on his side of the bed. When he turned back to face her, he was holding a small box tied up with a ribbon.

"What is this?"

"Open it and find out." She took the box from him and untied the ribbon as he propped himself up on his elbow, watching her eagerly. When she opened the lid of the box, she gasped, her eyes widening in shock.

Inside was a ring. A beautiful, stunning, _diamond_ ring. Isabel just stared at it, a smile starting to form on her lips.

"Maker's breath, Alistair, it's _beautiful_," she whispered.

"So… you like it?"

"I _love_ it."

Alistair let out a breath of relief, and plucked it from the box, taking her left hand and sliding it onto her ring finger. She was grinning now, her breath catching at the sight of the engagement ring on her hand. It was _perfect_. She couldn't stop herself from staring at it as it sparkled in the morning sunlight.

"I know it was awkward when I first asked," he started, a nervous blush creeping onto his cheeks, "but I wanted to do it right this time… you know, with a ring."

Isabel giggled. "Most men would just get down on one knee with the ring and ask."

His eyes widened and he blushed even more. "Right. I knew that, I was—" She cut him off by pressing her lips to his.

"I don't care about that," she said, caressing his face and rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone. "This was a wonderful sort-of second proposal."

Alistair sighed in relief and pulled her closer, pressing his forehead against hers with a smile. "I'm just glad you like the ring."

"I love it," she repeated, gazing into his eyes. "And I love _you_."

His face lit up, just like the first time she said it to him, and he looked at her with that adoring gaze that made her feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

"I love you, too, Isabel."


	15. Overreaction

**Overreaction**

A few notes:  
• This takes place the same day as _Offer Me_, right after the archdemon was slain (technically a few days after because both Isabel and Alistair were knocked out for a few days after the battle).  
• When Isabel's father appeared during the Gauntlet, he didn't give her the random necklace you get, he gave her a necklace that belonged to her mother. It seemed more personal (and more magic-y since that whole quest was… interesting).  
• Both Isabel _and_ Alistair killed the archdemon. They didn't know if the Dark Ritual would work, so after an argument he ran at it first and did the whole slice-the-neck-open thingy, and she ran after him and stabbed it in the head, finishing it off.

* * *

Isabel stared at her reflection in the mirror of her vanity, her eyes drawn to the pendant falling above the décolletage of her dress. A little vial of darkspawn blood hanging on a simple cord, meant as a reminder of those who didn't make it as far as she did. For Isabel, it reminded her of _everything_ she had lost—her family, her home, and almost her life.

She had lost _so much_, but by some miracle, she got Fergus back. And she still had Alistair.

But she almost lost him as well… too many times to count. The entire Blight was filled with occasions she thought would take him from her, from simple fights, to the Landsmeet, to the archdemon. _That_ was still fresh in her memory—the sight of him running at the behemoth of a creature in an attempt to sacrifice himself for her and the sake of Ferelden. He was a fool, but so was she, because she ran right after him and killed the thing herself in a desperate attempt to keep him alive.

She had no way of knowing _that ritual_ would actually work, but it did, and they both survived. Half the country was in shambles, but the Blight was _over_. She was a hero, her brother was alive, and she was engaged to the future king, the man she loved… she could have her happy ending.

But Isabel still felt apprehension settling in the pit of her stomach.

She untied the cord holding the vial of darkspawn blood around her neck, placing it on the vanity before her. That part of her life was over, and she didn't want to remember what she had lost anymore. Besides, it wasn't very befitting of a lady to walk around wearing a vial of_blood_.

With a sigh, Isabel pulled out her mother's necklace, the Cousland sigil etched into the pendant. She didn't know how the specter of her father had gotten it, but then again, the entirety of the Gauntlet was a strange experience.

A knock on the door startled her out of her reverie, and she quickly made her way to it. "Izzy?" came Alistair's voice. "Are you decent?"

She opened the door and he just stared as he took her in, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

"You're gaping," Isabel pointed out, biting back a grin.

"I can't help it," he replied, his fingers lightly tracing over the lace sleeves of her dress. "Maker's breath, Isabel, you're beautiful."

"I told you I look better in a dress than I do in armor."

"You always look good, love," Alistair started. "I, on the other hand, look ridiculous." She quirked an eyebrow at him, and he nodded. "I look like a court jester, not the future king," he said, uncomfortably shifting on his feet as she raked her eyes over him. A smile spread across her face at his outfit—simple breeches and a leather doublet, complete with gold buttons and embroidery, over a long-sleeved shirt. Isabel had only ever seen him in armor, or loose, casual shirts, and _Maker_, did he look amazing in his new finery. "I can't tell if you're smiling because I look good, or because I look like a fool," he muttered nervously, scratching the back of his head.

"You do not look like a fool," she breathed, running her hand up over the soft leather covering his chest before resting it above his heart. "You look _very_ handsome."

"Oh, good," he said, relieved, taking her hand and pressing a kiss to her palm. His gaze traveled over her again, his brows furrowing when his eyes landed on her chest. "You're not wearing your Warden pendant…"

"Proper ladies don't walk around wearing darkspawn blood around their necks," she replied. Isabel tore her gaze from him, glancing over to her vanity. "It brings back bad memories," she murmured. "These past months as a Warden… it's over, and I don't want to think about all the bad things that happened."

"It wasn't _all_ bad," he muttered.

Isabel met his gaze again, sighing and offering him a small smile as she placed her hand on his face. "You're right… we had our good moments." In all honesty, she probably wouldn't have made it as far as she did without him. For the longest time he was her support system, the person she could count on to have her back no matter what… but now things were changing. "But, like I said, the Blight's over," she stated pulling away from him and returning to her vanity. "We're starting a new chapter in our lives, and this one doesn't involve fighting darkspawn. We've got to deal with the nobles instead."

"I'd rather face the darkspawn," Alistair muttered, stepping up behind her, his arms slinking around her waist.

"I know, but this is our duty," she said, running her fingers over her mother's amulet. "Mother always said, 'duty first.'"

"May I?" he asked, his eyes finding hers in the mirror. Isabel nodded and he took the necklace and clasped it around her neck, his fingers tracing the pendant before straying to the scar on her shoulder, the faint white lines on her skin visible past the hem of her dress. Mother also said ladies didn't have scars. She would repeat it over and over again whenever Isabel would insist on sparring with Ser Gilmore. It wasn't that she didn't want her to fight—her parents encouraged her to learn how to properly defend herself—she just didn't want things to get carried away and lead to an accident.

"I can't go out like this," Isabel stated, shaking her head.

"Like what?" Alistair asked, his brows knitting together in confusion.

She whirled around to face him, shooting him a glare. "It's this _scar_, Alistair. Ladies don't have_scars_. I can't walk around the palace like this!" She slipped from his grasp, biting her lip as she started to pace.

"You just killed an archdemon and _this_ is what scares you? That people won't think you're a lady because of one small scar?" he said incredulously, quirking an eyebrow at her. "Don't you think you're overreacting?" Isabel opened her mouth to speak but quickly shut it, biting her lip again as she looked away from him. "This… isn't about the scar… is it?" he muttered. Alistair placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her face towards his, his amber eyes boring into hers as he studied her. "What are you so afraid of?"

"Losing you," she breathed. "You almost died four days ago, Ali. We _both_ did. How am I supposed to sit here and play dress up for Eamon and the other nobles when I almost lost you?"

"Oh, Izzy… I'm not going anywhere," he whispered, cupping her face in his hands. She jerked away from him and shot him another glare, tears in her eyes.

"But you were!" Her chest heaved as she fought back tears, a knot forming in her throat. "You said _goodbye_, and then you ran right at the archdemon. You were going to leave me!"

"And _you_ weren't going to leave _me_?" he shot back angrily. "Do you know what it felt like when I turned around and saw you stabbing it in the head?" He grabbed her arms, his wide eyes meeting hers. "I was terrified, Isabel! I thought you were going to die on me."

"But it was okay for _you_ to die, instead," she replied bitterly, sniffling as tears started to fall down her cheeks, images of his dead body from nightmares flashing through her mind. "You_know_ that I know what it feels like, and I _hate _it. Feeling so completely and utterly _helpless_, unable to do _anything_ as the one thing you love most in the world is _ripped_ away from you…" Isabel shook her head, choking back a sob. "I couldn't just stand there and do _nothing_."

"I know, love," he said softly, pulling her into his embrace. "I know." Alistair held her tight as she started to cry in earnest, her face buried in his neck, hands grasping him desperately. He whispered words of love to her, over and over, while rubbing her back to try and soothe her. "We're safe now, Izzy. That's all that matters."

"But we're _not_," she said, pulling her face back and wiping her tears with the heels of her hands. "I thought I was safe in Highever, but I was wrong… and everyone died."

"That wasn't your fault."

"My father left me in charge, Alistair," she protested. "He left everyone under my care and protection—the guards, the staff, _my family_… and I couldn't save them. I had _one_ job, running the household, something I'd been trained to do my _whole_ _life_, and I failed _miserably_." Isabel swallowed hard, holding back more tears. "What if I can't do this either? What if the nobles revolt against us and another civil war starts? What if _you_ die this time?"

"And here I was, thinking _I_ was the only one worried about the nobles," Alistair muttered sarcastically. She made a strangled noise somewhere between a huff, a snort, and a laugh, biting her lip to keep quiet. He smiled softly at her, brushing away a loose strand of her hair before resting his hand on her face, his thumb gently rubbing her cheek. "What happened in Highever wasn't your fault, love," he stated firmly, like he had a million times before. "It was Howe's, and he paid for it."

"I know," Isabel sighed. "But I'm still scared. I just want us to be happy and safe… but I don't know if that's going to happen."

"Well, as long as we're together, we'll be happy. And since I have no intention of ever leaving your side, that should be taken care of," he said, that lopsided smile of his so infectious that she started to smile herself. "And Eamon has an entire platoon of guards just ready and waiting to follow us around everywhere we go, so we'll be safe, too."

"But if the nobles—"

"Were you at the same Landsmeet I was?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow at her. "You can handle the nobles, Izzy, I've seen it with my own eyes." Alistair's gaze drifted down to her mother's necklace before meeting her eyes again. "You're a Cousland. You _were_ trained for this, and you can do it."

"You have a lot of faith in me," she murmured, and his smile grew into a grin.

"Everyone's got faith in you, love," he chirped. "You're the Hero of Ferelden! If the nobles try anything just bring _that_ up!" Isabel giggled before shaking her head and biting her lip. Alistair moved closer to her, resting his forehead against hers, his other hand coming up to join the first, both cupping her face. "I _do_ have faith in you, Izzy. Just like you have faith that I'm not going to screw up the entire kingdom."

"You'll do fine," she said, brining her hand up over his, nuzzling his face with hers.

He sighed, his breath tickling her lips. "Look, I don't know the nobility like you do, but I've got your back. I promise."

"And I've got yours. Always," she breathed. He nudged his lips forward until they pressed against hers in a tender, loving kiss.

"You're okay now?" he asked tentatively. She nodded and he let out a relieved breath. "Good, because I'm pretty sure Eamon's going to have a long line of nobles waiting for us when we leave this room, and I have no idea who they all are."

Isabel laughed before planting another deep kiss on his lips, a wordless thank you for being there for her when she needed him most. When she pulled back, she shot him a mischievous grin. "You know, you'll have to learn all their names before your coronation."

He jerked back, eyes wide. "But that's in… in three days!"

"You'll also have to learn how to dance, for the party afterwards. And of course all the proper protocols…"

"Oh, Maker," he groaned. "I'm never going to learn it all in time."

"You underestimate the ability of your teacher," Isabel replied.

"You're going to teach me?" Alistair asked, hope budding in his eyes.

"Eamon's going to insist _someone_ do it… it might as well be me."

"I'm feeling better about this already," he said cheerfully. She rolled her eyes and he kissed her cheek, her heart warming at the gesture. She stepped up to her vanity and wiped away her smeared makeup, quickly applying it again. Alistair offered her his arm, and she looped hers through his. "Ready?"

Isabel took a deep breath, focusing on the positive things Alistair said as opposed to her troubles. She could do this. "Yes, I'm ready," she announced. "Are you?"

"No," he said with a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck. "But you're going to fix that soon enough…"

"Let's go," she replied with a giggle. "The sooner we get through the rest of the day, the sooner we can retire to the privacy of your chambers."

"Sounds like a plan," Alistair said with a nod. They went to leave, but Isabel stopped them at the last moment. "Oh no, don't tell me you're backing out now. Because I'm following you if you do."

"No, I'm not backing out," she said softly, staring up into his eyes. "I just wanted to tell you that I love you. More than anything."

"And I, you," he replied, that adoring look of his in his eyes. "Always."

With that, they finally left the room, stepping into the next chapter of their lives… together.


	16. Fork

**Fork**

* * *

Isabel watched as Alistair stared at all the food on the table in front of them. She smiled at his expression, his eyes wide and mouth ajar.

"You know, this whole going-to-be-king thing has it's perks," he started, eyes darting over the different dishes. "How do they still have all this food? Denerim was under siege less than a week ago."

"They barred up the palace. We got to the darkspawn before they could get past the gates."

He glanced over to her, quirking an eyebrow. "Why are we just staring at it?"

Isabel laughed. "Because you can't eat until you've washed your hands."

"Right. I knew that." Two servants brought in bowls filled with water and towels, and Isabel washed her hands, Alistair following her lead. "And why do we need to wash our hands?"

"Besides being clean?" she asked, shooting him a look as the servants left with the bowls and towels.

"I didn't mean it like _that_," he said defensively. "I mean, why like this, in front of everyone?"

"It's proper etiquette, Alistair," Isabel said, taking a sip of her wine. He did what she did, eyeing her while he drank. "You're going to be king, you need to have proper etiquette, and I told Eamon that I would teach you." She picked up her spoon and dipped it into her bowl, scooping up the appropriate amount of soup. "Use your spoon to get the right amount of soup, and then—"

"The _right_ _amount_ of soup?" he asked incredulously. "Don't you just… scoop it up and eat it?" He demonstrated his point, getting a spoonful and blowing on it before slurping it into his mouth. Isabel sighed. This was going to be harder than she thought.

"No, that was all wrong. Observe." Alistair frowned and watched as she brought the spoonful of soup to her mouth, testing its temperature by gently touching it to her lips. When she deemed it wasn't too hot, she ate the soup—without slurping. "You don't fill the spoon up all the way in order to prevent spilling, you don't blow on it, and you _never_ _ever_ slurp it," she said, looking back to him. He looked so upset; she knew he just wanted to fill his plate and scarf down his food, but this was all necessary. "Don't worry, you'll get it… eventually."

They made it through the soup, not without more corrections from Isabel. Servants came to take the bowls away allowing them to fill their plates with the main course. Alistair got right to it, grabbing heaps and heaps of everything and throwing it onto his dish.

"Alistair, portion control," she chided, gesturing to her own plate. All of her food was neatly spread out over the dish, nothing overflowing off the sides like _someone's_ plate.

"Isabel!" he whined. "You know I can eat five times what's in your dish! _You_ eat five times what's in your dish!"

She shook her head. "Not all at once. You can always go back for seconds… and thirds." He sighed and started putting back the food and she brought her hand to her face and shook her head. "You don't put anything back once it's in your plate," she said. Alistair stopped what he was doing and gave her an apologetic smile. She just took a hefty drink of her wine.

Now that they finally had their food in their plates, they could eat. Isabel watched as the king stabbed his fork into his meat, taking his knife and grinding away at it.

"_Maker_, you don't need to cut it like _that_," she said. "It's already dead."

Alistair sighed and put down his fork and knife, glaring at her. "You never had a problem with the way I ate _before_."

"Before we were just two Grey Wardens eating at camp. Now, you're going to be the king, I'm going to be queen, and we're going to be eating in front of other nobles who take this seriously." She let out an exasperated sigh. "Just do it like this."

Isabel demonstrated to him how he should cut his meat, and he obliged, a frown on his handsome face. She bet he wasn't so fond of the perks of being royalty now.

They ate in silence, her commands and corrections the only thing that cut through the tension in the air. It was a long and arduous ordeal, and it felt more like an unpleasant task than a meal with the man she loved. Then again, it _was_ a task…

When they were finally done and everything had been cleared from the table, Isabel looked down at her hands in her lap. Alistair took in a deep breath and sighed, leaning back in his chair.

"Well, I'm glad _that's_ over," he started. "I used to actually _enjoy_ eating…" Isabel snapped her head up and glared at him, and he brought his hands up in a defensive gesture. "I'm sorry, I know you're just trying to help." She sighed, resting her elbows on the table and holding her head in her hands, breaking every etiquette rule there was. She didn't care. She didn't want to hear the word "etiquette" for the next few days… maybe a week. Denerim was still being rebuilt from the darkspawn attack, and Isabel didn't think there were going to be any banquets anytime soon—well, besides his coronation. Alistair still had time to learn the ways of the nobles.

"I'm sorry for pushing you too hard," she mumbled. She turned her head to face him and he shrugged.

"I'm going to have to learn sooner or later." Isabel stood up and stepped next to his chair, turning around and plopping herself on his lap. He grinned at her as he slipped his arms around her waist, hers slinking around his neck.

"Later," she breathed. "I'm done with etiquette for now."

"Obviously," he said, gesturing to her position. Oh, she would show him a proper _lack_ of etiquette. She shot him a wry smile as she teasingly slid her hand up his chest over his shirt.

"How about we go back to the royal bedchambers and have dessert instead?" she whispered in his ear.

"Dessert? _Yes_," his breath hitched when she pressed a kiss to his neck, "dessert is good." Alistair looped his arms underneath her and picked her up as he quickly stood, his chair toppling over behind him. Isabel giggled at his enthusiasm before teasing him as he carried her away. It seemed their meal wasn't going to end as badly as she thought.


	17. Ghosts

**Ghosts**

* * *

"Your majesty, if you could please remain still," the painter urged, trying—and failing—to hide the frustration in his voice. Alistair stopped shifting in his seat, lips pursed as he concentrated on remaining still for the portrait. The painter hesitated for a long moment, as if he were just waiting for the king to start fidgeting again, before finally dipping his paintbrush into his paint to continue his work.

The brush had barely touched the canvas when Alistair sagged in his seat with a sigh. He shot the exasperated painter an apologetic look before standing up, uncomfortably rubbing the back of his neck.

"Can we take a little break?" he asked, unsure.

"Of course, my king," Isabel replied quickly, before the painter lost his nerve or Eamon could suggest they continue instead. Letting out a breath of relief, Alistair offered her a small smile before quickly leaving the room. Once she and Eamon smoothed things over with the painter she went after him, roaming the corridors of the palace until she found him.

He was sitting on the floor of a hall lined with portraits of past Fereldan rulers, his head resting back against the stone wall as he stared up at two portraits in particular—those of his father and brother. She could see his thoughts were racing, his brows furrowed as his mind wandered, eyes focused on the portraits before him.

Lifting up the skirt of her dress, she lowered herself to the floor, lightly brushing her fingers over his cheek as she sat beside him. She rested her head on his shoulder and they remained quiet for a moment, content to simply sit together, their arms and legs pressed together.

"Did you see the painter's expression when he first saw me?" Alistair murmured. "It was like he was looking at a _ghost_."

Isabel lifted her head and met his gaze, sighing softly. "Maric was your father," she replied, gesturing to the portraits before them, "and Cailan your brother…"

"_Half_-brother."

"Yes, half-brother… either way, you're related to the both of them. It's perfectly normal to look like your relatives."

"Not _that_ much," he muttered, frowning as he glared at the portrait of his half-brother. "Cailan and I are practically twins." Before she could counter his statement, he turned his gaze on her and continued. "But it's not just that. When I was sitting there for the painter, I was thinking… people are comparing more than our looks. They're comparing my _actions_ to his."

"Ali—"

"Don't try and convince me they don't," he said, shifting in his seat, his eyes falling to the floor. "I've heard the nobles whispering about it when they don't think I'm listening. I've barely been king for a month and I'm already doing it wrong."

"I wasn't going to try and convince you they don't compare you to Cailan," she replied, voice soft. "I've heard the whispers as well, and no one thinks you're doing it wrong." Alistair turned to face her, a slight pout on his lips as he furrowed one eyebrow, the other arched upwards in that exaggerated expression of his. Isabel huffed, biting back a smile at the look on his face before continuing. "Those who didn't want you on the throne in the first place are _always_ going to think you're wrong, but everyone else… I think they're rather impressed so far."

"I don't know about that."

She released a deep breath, her eyes darting away before holding his gaze. "I don't know if you know this, but… many thought my father should have been king instead of Cailan. He was a powerful man, who was popular and well respected among the nobles, and Cailan…" She paused, sighing. "Cailan wasn't exactly the best king. If he hadn't had Anora doing all the work for him, I'm not sure he would have kept the throne—Maric's son, or not."

"I always thought everyone loved him," Alistair said quietly, brows drawn together in uncertainty.

"As an individual, yes," she replied. "He could be irritating at times, but he was generally well-liked. But as a king… he had a lot of work to do when it came to his role on the throne."

"Huh," he huffed, taking the information in and processing it. Flashing her a grin, he nudged her shoulder with his. "So, basically you're trying to tell me that you were almost a princess?"

Isabel snorted a laugh and rolled her eyes before growing serious again. "No, not exactly," she breathed, gently placing her hand on his cheek to keep his focus on her. "I'm trying to tell you not to worry about the nobles comparing you to Cailan. In your short reign, you have been a _good_ king, and you're only going to get better at it. Anyone can see that you take this responsibility seriously, and that you're giving everything you can to this country." She offered him a small smile, her thumb stroking his cheek. "You're not your brother. You may look like him, but you're a different man than he was. And people will see that."

He sighed, placing his hand over hers on his cheek. "You really think I'm a good king?"

"_Alistair_," she snapped, pulling her hand back and shooting him a glare.

"I'm just making sure!"

"Yes, I do! How many more times do I have to make it clear to you?"

"Well, how am I supposed to know you're not just… blinded by love?"

"_Alistair_."

"Okay, okay, I get it, I'm a good king," he said with a chuckle, his hands up in a defensive position. Isabel continued to glare at him, until he turned his puppy-dog eyes on her and she couldn't resist smiling at him. "You are going to have to remind me of how he and I don't look exactly alike, though," he continued, gesturing to the portrait of Cailan. "Because from where I'm sitting, we look very much alike."

"If you insist," she replied a hint of jest in her voice. Turning her attention to the portrait, she studied Cailan's face, the image bringing back some of the fonder memories she had of the man, remembering him alive and well, not just a still, motionless painting hanging on a wall. When she looked back at Alistair, he was watching her, his eyes on hers, and she could see the differences as plain as day.

"It's your eyes," she started, staring right into those pools of amber. "You must have gotten your mother's eyes, because they're nothing like Cailan's or your father's. They're beautiful, almost golden if the right light hits them… I could spend an entire day staring into them."

"Just a day?" he asked, a lopsided grin on his lips.

"You know what I mean," she replied with a huff.

Alistair chuckled. "I do, and it was very poetic, love."

"Oh don't start. I'm a lot better at being poetic than you are."

"I never said you weren't."

Isabel shot him a wry smile and he just grinned at her. "As I was saying," she continued, her eyes drawn to his mouth, "your lips are also much more kissable than Cailan's."

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, I would know. And your nose is nicer than his."

"We have the same nose," he pointed out, and she snorted a laugh.

"You're not wrong, but it suits your face better."

"But we have the same _face_."

Isabel quirked an eyebrow at him and bit back a smile. "I'm sorry, did I not just point out the numerous differences between your faces?"

"But—"

"I know _exactly_ what I'm talking about," she said, punctuating her point with a quick peck on the tip of his nose. She went to pull back but he stopped her, his hand cradling her head as he pulled her in for another kiss, his lips brushing over hers. Quickly recovering from the slight shock, she closed her eyes and kissed him back, her fingers finding their way to his collar, her hand fisting in his shirt as she pulled him closer. "Do you still need more convincing?" she asked when they pulled apart.

Alistair laughed, shaking his head as he stared at her. "I think you've made your point very clear."

"Good." She planted one last kiss to his lips before pulling away from him and standing up, smoothing out the skirt of her dress. He stood up with her, dusting himself off before smiling at her. "So, are you ready to continue with your portrait?"

The smile fell from his face, his shoulders slumping forward as she reminded him what they had been hiding from in the first place. "I don't want to sit in that chair anymore," he whined.

"It's no different than sitting in your throne."

"Yes, it _is_. I don't have to sit completely _still_ on my throne."

Isabel sighed and shook her head. "Would it help if I distract you? I can read to you—that book of policies you've been studying. Two birds, one stone."

"You would do that?" he asked, perking up at the possibility she offered.

Smiling softly, she laced her fingers with his, giving his hand a light squeeze. "Of course."

He pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before beaming at her. "Then let's get back before that painter tries to kill me."

With a laugh, they were off, leaving the old portraits behind them.


	18. Political Animal

**Political Animal**

Keep in mind that Isabel does some pretty dark things throughout her rule because she deems them necessary to keep the nobles in line and/or to protect Alistair (her family's murder really screwed her up, so if she lost him, she would break).

* * *

"We have a problem."

"There's nothing like coming back from your honeymoon to a problem," Isabel replied with a sigh as she turned her attention to Eamon. "What is it?"

"I've been informed that Bann Ceorlic has been stirring up trouble amongst the Bannorn," Eamon stated, frowning.

"He voted against us at the Landsmeet, didn't he?" Alistair interjected, and Eamon nodded.

"He did," Isabel said, echoing Eamon's answer. "I'm surprised he's publicly opposing us, especially given his family's history."

Brows furrowing, Alistair glanced at Isabel, clearly confused. "His family's history?"

"Ceorlic's father was one of the nobles who betrayed your grandmother during the war and got her killed," she clarified, watching as he registered the information.

"After your father got his revenge, he threatened the remaining children of the traitors," Eamon explained further. "He told them that he would destroy them if they didn't denounce the treachery of their fathers. Ceorlic accepted Maric's terms."

"And now he threatens Maric's son," Isabel said with a sigh.

"Well, that can't be too smart of him," Alistair pointed out.

"We need to address his statements, your Majesty. I can try and convince him to keep his troublesome views to himself—"

"Or I could handle it," Isabel suggested. Eamon quirked an eyebrow at her and Alistair gave her his full attention. "I have a weapon at my disposal that you don't, Chancellor. I feel it will be more effective than trying to negotiate with him."

"All right, love, you've got the job," Alistair announced with a smile.

"In that case, I have other work to do," Eamon stated, lips pressed together into a line as he shot the queen a wary look before bowing and excusing himself.

Alistair offered her his arm and she looped hers through his as they continued to walk to their rooms. "What exactly is this weapon you have at your disposal?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

Smiling coyly, Isabel met his gaze. "I am acquainted with Ceorlic's son."

"Acquainted? As in… _acquainted_ acquainted?"

"Yes," she replied with a light laugh.

He momentarily bristled, tensing the slightest bit as they continued walking. "And you can use that to solve our problem, how?"

Giggling, she reached up and planted a kiss on Alistair's cheek. "Just wait and see, my love."

... ... ...

"Your Majesty, Bann Ceorlic has arrived," a servant announced.

Isabel stood from the small bench she sat at in the palace gardens, turning to face her new visitor, her loyal mabari by her side.

"Bann Ceorlic, welcome," she said, inclining her head as a greeting.

Ceorlic bowed, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation.

"The king requested to see, your Majesty."

"I am aware, my lord, but the king is rather busy right now. He's asked me to speak with you instead," she replied, gesturing towards the path through the garden. "If you will…"

Ceorlic nodded, taking up a position at her side as she began to walk the path, Bear trotting along at her other side, just behind them. Isabel remained quiet for a moment, simply observing Ceorlic from the corner of her eye, noting the way he scratched his beard as his eyes darted from plant to plant in the garden. Smiling to herself, she decided it was time to strike—he was clearly nervous, and that would make her job a lot easier.

"My mother had a garden back in Highever," she began, wistfully. "She taught me how to take care of the flowers, and now here I am, with a garden of my own."

"I'm sorry for your loss, your Majesty," Ceorlic stated, seemingly earnest in his words. "Your mother—and father—were good people.

"Thank you, my lord." Isabel took a deep breath, eyes roving over the garden as they continued to walk before turning her attention on Ceorlic. "You are right about my parents. They were well loved by their people and they were respected among the Landsmeet," she began. Ceorlic nodded, his brow furrowing as he waited to see where she was taking their conversation. "They were very good at what they did, and they gave me the skills to be just as good as they were." Reaching out to brush her fingers over a flower as they passed it, Isabel smiled to herself before turning her attention back to the man beside her. "My mother didn't just teach me to garden, you see," she continued, her voice lower, more serious. "She taught me how to discover people's secrets, how to find their weaknesses, and how to exploit them for my own gain… as well as many other tools that are _very_ valuable for a queen to possess."

Her thinly veiled threat alerted him to the purpose of their conversation, and Ceorlic huffed, shaking his head. "I thought my words would get a response from the crown, but I never thought it would be from _you_," he spat, eying her with a glare. "I thought the king would take care of his own business, not send his _wife_ to handle it."

"The king is busy running this country, despite your efforts to undermine him," she retorted, narrowing her eyes at him while keeping her emotions in check. "I am not just the king's wife, I am his queen, his _partner_… and I'm not going to simply sit around and look pretty while leaving my husband to do all the ruling when I'm just as capable as he or any of his advisors are, if not more."

Ceorlic barked out a laugh. "So we're to have another king ruled by his queen, then?"

"No, we're to have a king and queen ruling _together_. If that, or how we rule this country, is a problem to you, I advise you to keep your opinions to yourself."

"Or what?"

"Or I'm going to have to bring your son into this," Isabel replied, her lips quirking into the tiniest of smirks.

Ceorlic frowned, his brows furrowed. "What does my son have to do with any of this?"

"Your son is much easier to influence than you are," she simply said. Stopping on the path, she turned to Ceorlic, moving the smallest touch into his personal space as she held his gaze. "In fact, I once had him groveling at my feet, begging me to give him the time of day. He would have done _anything_ I asked of him, just to please me."

His nostrils flared, face turning red as his eyes grew wide. "You… and my son?" he spluttered out. He made a move to advance on her but Bear intervened, the mabari stepping forward with a growl. Ceorlic looked down at the mabari, and released a rush of air before meeting her eyes again. "What did you do with him?"

"Nothing. All I had to do was bat my eyelashes at him, and that was that," she answered, lips curled into a wry smile. "He's so eager to please that I could have him wrapped around my finger now just as easily as I did then." Isabel took a deep breath, narrowing her eyes at Ceorlic as the smile dropped from her face. "Wouldn't it be such a shame if you ended up like your father, and your son took your place as Bann just to be persuaded to go against everything you believe in?"

"Is that a threat?" he shouted, stepping forward until he was looking down at her, his face red again as he shot her a hard glare. Isabel didn't back away, not intimidated by his reaction, and stared him down as Bear began to growl again, louder this time, forcing himself between the two of them.

Ceorlic's attention turned to the mabari and he started to back off, but Bear continued to advance on him, teeth bared as he snarled. Ceorlic's face paled as Bear backed him against a flower bush, the man's eyes darting around for an escape route. Bear barked, and Ceorlic practically jumped as he started to tremble.

Holding her head high, Isabel stepped forward into Ceorlic's personal space again, reaching out to Bear. The moment she touched him he calmed, closing his eyes as he enjoyed the generous ear rub she gave him. "I would never threaten you, my lord," she stated, resisting a smile at the way Bear groaned in satisfaction, instead giving the man before her a dangerous look. "I am simply asking you to keep your opinions to yourself… before someone misconstrues them as treasonous."

Lips pursed, Ceorlic held his tongue, tugging at his collar before straightening out his clothes with a huff. She could tell he wanted to tell her off, but he didn't dare. "Very well, your Majesty."

Isabel smiled, inhaling deeply. "I'm glad we could come to an understanding, Bann Ceorlic," she chirped, her eyes still on his. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I do need to tend to my roses. You're dismissed."

Without another word, Ceorlic bowed, his cold gaze on hers the entire time, until he finally broke their stare and stalked off, out of the gardens towards the palace. She watched him go, chewing on her lower lip, hoping she had successfully gotten her point across.

Well… she would find out soon enough.

... ... ...

Isabel was writing a letter to her brother when Alistair burst into the study, shutting the door before briskly walking over to where she sat at the desk.

"Did you hear? Bann Ceorlic was attacked!" he exclaimed. Isabel tightened her grip on her quill, biting her lip, continuing to stare at the parchment before her as he continued. "A group of men attacked him claiming he was a traitor to the Theirins like his father. His attackers vanished, but at least Ceorlic is publicly claiming that he supports us."

"Yes… I am aware," Isabel muttered, finally meeting Alistair's gaze. He was smiling, happy to have one less problem to worry about, and she forced herself to smile back.

"What is it, love?" he asked seeing right through her mask. Pulling up a chair, he sat beside her, cupping her cheek with his hand. "Is it because your plan didn't work? Things still worked out. He's not going to oppose us anymore."

Isabel sighed, her hand coming up over his as she leaned into his touch. She took his hand from her face and held it in hers on her lap as she turned to face him, her eyes falling from his. "Things didn't just 'work out,' Alistair," she sighed. "My original plan didn't work… but my backup plan did."

His head flinched back slightly and his brows furrowed as he tried to understand what she was saying. "What do you mean? What backup plan?"

Taking a deep breath, Isabel looked him in the eyes, swallowing hard. "When Ceorlic continued to oppose us after I threatened him, I had to make sure he understood that I meant what I said. I had to _show_ him I was serious in my threats."

He narrowed his eyes at her, releasing a shaky breath. "What did you do?"

"I… I had those men attack him and make those claims."

"You tried to have him _killed_?" he accused, jerking up out of his chair. She stood up as well, reaching for him.

"No," she stated, her fingers curling around his wrist, sliding downwards until they intertwined with his. "I instructed them to make sure Ceorlic lived. I didn't need him to die, I just needed him to take me seriously and that wasn't going to happen unless my actions supported my words."

"Isabel, people almost _died_," he breathed, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand before shaking his head. "Ceorlic had his men defending him… and you almost had them killed."

"I know… and I know it doesn't make up for it, but I made sure that those who were injured will receive the best care they can get."

Alistair's mouth open and closed as he blinked rapidly, processing her words. "And if they _did_ die?" he asked, voice quiet. "If the only way for your plan to work was for people to die… would you still have done it?" Isabel's throat tightened, and she couldn't bear the way he was looking at her. She tore her gaze from his, chewing her lower lip as she exhaled shakily. It was all the answer he needed. "Izzy, no—"

"Yes," she whispered, snapping her eyes back up to his. Pulling his hand from hers he stepped back, shaking his head.

"Alistair, please—"

"You're… that is… _ruthless_… and _vicious_," he started, struggling to find the right words. "Maker, you… this was all because someone said they disagreed with us?"

Isabel pursed her lips together, holding back tears at the way her husband looked at her with such betrayal in his eyes. "I know you must think I'm a monster for doing this, but it had to be done. If I can just—"

"Had to be done?" he shouted, taking a step towards her. He reached for her, but quickly pulled his hand back, instead fisting it at his side. "Maker's breath, Isabel, you can't actually believe that?" he continued. "How could you put those people's lives in danger? You _know_ what it feels like to lose people you love, how could you do that to someone else? They were _innocent_ men, just doing their job and you—"

"I did it because I'm trying to protect you!" she snapped.

"What?"

Looking away from him, she shook her head, then meeting his eyes again. "Do you know what would have happened if Ceorlic turned the majority of the Bannorn against us?" she asked, her voice deathly quiet. Alistair remained silent, swallowing hard as he waited for her answer. "Ferelden would go to war again," she stated, watching as his eyebrows shot up in surprise. "This country only just achieved peace among its people and survived a Blight. We cannot afford any unrest now, especially not in the Bannorn. Things are very fragile, and we can't appear weak… we're going to need all the power we can to survive, and that power comes from the Bannorn. Without their support, we are _nothing_, and if… if they tried to depose us… things could get violent. There could be another civil war, and…"

Her words died out as a knot formed in her throat, and she bit back the tears that threatened to accompany it. She'd said enough for Alistair to get an idea of where she was going with her explanation, and he sighed, momentarily closing his eyes. "Isabel…"

"I could lose you, Ali," she muttered, shaking her head as she sniffled. "I can't… not after everything else." She held her tears in a bit longer, determined to explain the rest of her thoughts before she lost it. "I know it doesn't excuse my actions, but I believe they were necessary to secure our protection in the long run. I got us stuck here, and I will do whatever it takes to keep you—_us_—safe, from anyone and anything that threatens us," she continued, her voice trembling. "If that makes me ruthless and vicious, so be it. And if you hate me because of this… if I've ruined things between us…" She looked down, her breaths unsteady as the thought of losing him because of her actions plagued her mind. She felt his hands gently slide up her arms and couldn't hold her tears back, crying in earnest as he pulled her into his embrace and tucked her head against his chest.

"I just… didn't know you had that side to you," he murmured into her hair as he rubbed her back. "I didn't know you were capable of that."

Pulling back slightly, Isabel took a deep breath and faced him. "I wasn't always this way, but this life… the power that comes with being a noble, a king or queen… it corrupts people, it poisons them… and I've been living this life, dealing with politics, for a long time."

"You're not poisoned, love."

Sighing, she placed her hand on his face, her thumb gently rubbing over his cheek as she smiled softly at him. "But I am. The lengths I will go to… it scares me sometimes, knowing what I would do. But I also know that it's necessary," she started. "You just don't see it because this is new to you. You're still innocent in all of this… I hope you can stay that way as long as possible."

"Isabel… if you say it was necessary… I believe you," he stated, brows furrowed in determination. "I trust you with this. I trust you would never take a life unless it was to save your own… or mine."

"You're okay with my methods, then?" she asked, her hand falling from his face, her heartbeat thumping loudly in her chest as she waited for his answer.

He released a deep breath, pursing his lips as he thought about what to say. "I don't like it… but this is our reality now. But it might… take me a while to get used to it."

"I understand."

"And I do have one thing to ask of you."

"Anything."

"If something like this happens again, will you please tell me of your plans?" he said, his eyes looking over her face as he held her closer. "I can see it's taking a toll on you, and I don't want to see you lose yourself this. I may not be able to help with the politics, but I want to be here for you." The smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips as his hand found her face. "We're supposed to be ruling together, remember? You don't have to do this alone," he continued. She nodded, unable to bite back a smile at his words. "You're my wife, and I meant it when I vowed to stand beside you through everything we'll face. I love you, Izzy… nothing's ever going to change that."

Isabel let out a shaky breath of relief, feeling as if a weight were lifted off her shoulders. "I love you, too, Alistair… always."

Alistair pressed his forehead against hers as he nestled their faces together, his smile growing into the full-fledged grin she loved so much. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, reveling in their closeness, and thanked the Maker for giving her such a wonderful husband. Together, they would make sure Ferelden prospered, and most importantly they would stay _safe_.


	19. All Night Long

**All Night Long**

* * *

The queen's screams echoed throughout the palace, no doubt waking up half of Denerim. Alistair ran to their bedroom, coming upon a group of guards that had already beaten him there. When they noticed his arrival, they parted from the doorway, allowing him to get inside the room. Upon seeing that his wife was in no immediate danger, he relaxed, letting out a sigh of relief.

Isabel was standing on their bed, barefoot and clad only in her nightgown, his sword tightly gripped between her hands. She was hyperventilating, shakily pointing the weapon at her vanity across the room.

"Isabel?" he said softly, cautiously approaching her. "What's wrong, love?"

She tore her panicked gaze away from the vanity and focused on him, blinking back tears. "I was g-going to take d-down my hair and I saw a s-spider crawl on the m-mirror," she stammered, her lower lip trembling.

Alistair kicked off his boots and climbed onto the bed with her, prying the sword out of her hands before she hurt herself. He gestured for the guards to come inside, giving them orders to find the spider before his wife passed out. "We'll find the spider and we'll kill it," he whispered, pulling her into his embrace. She nodded, sniffling, as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, her fingers curling into his shirt as she clung to him.

The guards searched for the spider, but couldn't find it, even when they started pushing around the furniture to check behind it. It had seemingly crawled off to whatever hole it came from, and this did not please Isabel one bit.

"I'm sorry, your Majesties, but the spider has disappeared," one of the guards said, maintaining a safe distance from the queen.

"No!" she whined. "You have to find it!"

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, but I doubt that will be possible," the guard replied.

"You had better make it possible," she snapped, shooting the guard a glare that made him shrink back in fear.

Alistair held her firmly to his side, giving the guards an apologetic look. "The queen thanks you and understands that you have done your best," he said to the guards, dismissing them. When they were gone, he coaxed Isabel off the bed, and she shoved his sword back into his hand, dragging him over to the vanity. Her fingers painfully dug into his forearm as she peeked over the furniture, making sure the spider was really gone.

"Izzy?"

She turned to face him, eyes wide in fear. "What if it comes back while we sleep?" she said, her voice trembling.

"It's not going to come back—"

"You don't know that," she interrupted, stomping back over to plop down on the bed. She huffed, starting to take down her hair, and he sighed, grabbing her brush from the vanity and sitting behind her. He went to brush through her hair, but she looked over her shoulder, leering at him. "Did you make sure the vile little creature isn't on the brush?"

Alistair glared at her and she snorted, turning back around. He brushed through her unruly waves while she stared down the vanity, just waiting for the spider to reappear. When he finished, he changed out of his finery and she sat back on the bed with her arms crossed.

"I'm not going to sleep," Isabel declared. "I can't. I won't. Not until that evil little thing is dead."

"You can't stay awake all night long," Alistair said, blowing out the candles and climbing into bed with her.

"Watch me," she replied, stubbornly holding her head high.

He made himself comfortable, rolling over and tucking the blankets around himself. "I'm going to sleep," he muttered. "I'm tired and we have an early meeting in the morning."

Isabel was quiet longer than he predicted she'd be, until she finally shuffled over to his back. She rested her head over his shoulder, her short, anxious breaths tickling his neck.

"Ali?" she whispered, and he turned towards her, looking up at her expectantly in the dim light. "Please don't go to sleep… not yet."

"I can't stay awake all night, love," he said quietly. "I can try, but I doubt I'd make it half an hour."

"I know, it's just…" she said, sighing. "Will you hold me?"

"Of course." As soon as the words left his mouth, she burrowed into his side, tangling her limbs with his. He held her tight, cocooning her in his warmth and comfort the way he knew she liked. It was then that he felt her shaking, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head as he tried to soothe her.

Alistair knew her overreaction wasn't about the little spider that had invaded their room. She was already afraid of spiders when he'd met her, and their trip into the Deep Roads only amplified that. He supposed being pounced on, poisoned, and almost eaten by an overgrown, tainted spider would make _anyone_ petrified of spiders—forget about someone who was already terrified of them.

He remembered the aftermath of it all too well; the blood gushing from her wound as she passed out in his arms, how pale and _freezing_ she was from the poison… how he had to warm her up, holding her like he did now, unsure if she was going to survive the night.

He pushed those memories away, instead focusing on the moment he was in now—contently cuddled up with his wife. Being king wasn't exactly where he thought he'd end up, but he had his queen, _his Izzy_… and that made everything worth it.


	20. Siren Song

**Siren Song**

* * *

She had been teasing him all day.

She started while they held court, whispering dirty little things in his ear in between petitioners, watching as a blush bloomed on his cheeks. After court they were stuck in a meeting with the council, but that didn't deter her efforts, her fingers brushing over her husband's thighs before a deft hand found its way into his trousers. Their duties had them part ways after the meeting, but still, she persisted, having one of the servants deliver the king a particularly _naughty_ note, which, according to the servant, caused exactly the reaction she intended.

Isabel figured that all her hard work would yield quite the reward once Alistair finally had enough of her teasing… which was why she decided it was time to seek him out.

She found him speaking with Eamon in the throne room. He saw her approaching them, his gaze locked on hers before his focus returned to Eamon—though his eyes kept drifting to her the closer she got. Brushing by the two men, she headed for the doors, her husband doing a double take as he processed her change in trajectory.

"Isabel, wait!" he called out, completely interrupting Eamon mid-sentence. She spun around to face them, greeting Eamon with a slight incline of her head before turning her attention to Alistair.

"Yes, love?" She held his gaze, resisting the urge to smile as he saw right through her innocent façade. "Did you need something?"

"Yes!" he replied, his voice just a bit too loud for casual conversation. Ignoring the curious look Eamon shot him, he cleared his throat, continuing to speak normally. "We have to discuss that important issue you brought up this morning."

"Important issue?" she asked, feigning confusion—a test to see just what lie he would come up with to get her alone.

Alistair quickly glanced to Eamon before giving her a _look_. She simply responded with a quirk of her eyebrow. He had to get better at lying anyway, and the only way to do that was to practice.

"About the crown's debt," he blurted out. "You said… you said you had a plan to lessen it."

"Oh, yes, _that_!" Isabel looked to Eamon before meeting her husband's gaze again, waving the issue off. "I would love to discuss it now, but I'm sure whatever it is you were discussing with the Chancellor is just as important."

"Izz—"

"We'll speak later, my king," she said, stepping closer to him as his protest died away. She planted a lingering kiss to his cheek, reveling in the slight shiver that ran through his body as her fingers ghosted over the small of his back. Pulling back, she noticed the slight twitch of his hand as he resisted the urge to grab her and give her a proper kiss.

As she turned and left Alistair alone with Eamon, she allowed herself a small smile at her husband's eagerness to get her alone. She had the distinct feeling they'd be "talking" about that "important issue" sooner rather than later.

Isabel barely made it into the corridor outside the main hall before she heard heavy footsteps behind her. She whirled around just as Alistair reached her, his arms slinking around her waist as he pressed her against the wall. She bit her lip as he stared at her, shifting herself against him so he was even closer, their bodies flush together.

"I've had enough of your games," he growled, swallowing hard as his gaze drifted to her lips. She shot him a mischievous grin as she lifted the skirt of her dress, hooking her leg around his. Taking his hand, she slid it up her leg until he was cupping her bottom, a needy groan slipping past his lips as his fingers dug into her bare flesh.

"And I have been waiting for you to make a move _all day_," she breathed, offering her lips up to his. "We've been so busy lately, and it's been _far_ too long since we had some time to ourselves." He leaned in to close the distance between them, but she pulled back at the last moment, her hand snaking up his arm and behind his head, fingers threading through his short hair.

"_Isabel_," Alistair huffed, his voice a low grumble as he pulled her hips towards his, pressing his forehead against hers. Isabel could feel his growing desire for her, and _Maker_ she wanted him just as much, but they were still in the middle of the hallway—a fact that he seemed to be forgetting.

Inching her lips forward, she barely brushed her lips against his, his ragged breaths mingling with hers. "Let's find somewhere a bit more private, shall we?"


	21. Interruptions

**Interruptions**

This is the first time I've written anything like this in this amount of detail, so I'm sorry if it kind of sucks

* * *

Isabel entered the royal bedchambers, one of the guards having told her that her husband had retired to the privacy of their chambers to work. She fully intended on helping Alistair with whatever motion or bill he was working on, but her mind shifted gears the moment she heard a soft moan coming from their bedroom. She stopped in her tracks, brows furrowing together—she recognized _that_ sound.

She listened closely as she quietly tiptoed across the sitting room adjacent to their bedroom, making a beeline for the door, another moan ringing through the air. Cracking open the door, she peeked inside, her eyes growing wide at the sight before her.

Alistair was reclined on their bed, stroking himself with one hand, the other fisted in the bedcovers beside him. He tilted his head back, his eyes closed and brows drawn together, a blush on his cheeks, as he moaned her name, his hand speeding up its movements. Isabel inhaled sharply at the sound, because _Maker_, she loved it when he said her name like that.

She bit her lip and continued to watch as Alistair pleasured himself, unable to take her eyes off of him. The way he struggled to keep quiet, the apple of his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, biting back groan after groan… the beads of sweat forming over his flushed body, one drop tantalizingly dripping down over his partially exposed chest… the jerk of his hips as he thrust into his hand, his chest heaving with quickened breaths, the vein in his neck thumping as his pulse increased… the way he breathed her name over and over, rough, needy, and desperate for release…

It all was _extremely_ enticing, and Isabel quickly found that it was much too warm in their room. Something had to be done about _that_, and she had just the idea.

With a devious grin, she opened the door fully, draping herself seductively against the doorframe.

"I know I was gone for quite a while, but I didn't think it was _that_ long," she said flippantly, grinning even more when Alistair tensed, his body going completely still. He shot his eyes open and met her gaze, blushing even more than he was before—all the way up to the tips of his ears.

"Isabel, I—"

"Started without me, it seems," she interrupted, running her eyes appreciatively over him. He gulped, nervously pulling his hand away from himself and fidgeting before settling both hands at either side of him on the bed. "I knew you did this before we started sleeping together, when I used to rile you up night after night, but I wasn't aware that you still did with the frequency we find ourselves in bed together."

Alistair nervously scratched the back of his head, his eyes darting around the room before landing on hers again. "I was, uh… thinking about you," he murmured.

"I can see that," she replied with a light laugh, pushing herself off the door. Isabel started to advance on him, and he remained on the bed, watching her every move. "You know, now that I'm here, I could help with your… situation… _your Majesty_." She all but purred his title, enjoying the way it made him squirm.

"You don't have to—"

"But I _want_ to, _my king_," she muttered, hiking her dress up as she climbed onto the bed, slowly crawling over him on her hands and knees. "I really, _really_ want to."

"Minx," he growled, his amber gaze flicking down to the décolletage of her dress, the top of her breasts on full display as she hovered over him. Isabel smirked, inching her face closer to his.

"You love it," she breathed before pressing her lips to his in a heated kiss. When they broke for air she latched her lips onto his neck, sliding down his body as she trailed a path of kisses down to his collarbone, over his heaving chest, and down his abdomen, following the line of hair below his navel to her destination.

Alistair watched her like a hawk as she hooked her fingers around the top of his pants and smalls, pulling them down to give herself room to work. Isabel licked her lips at the sight of him and he groaned, the sound bringing a smile to her lips.

"Alistair," she said, looking up and meeting his gaze. "Don't try to be quiet."

He slowly nodded, swallowing hard, amber eyes alight with excitement at what was to come.

With that, Isabel focused back on the task at hand, determined to make her husband scream her name so all of Denerim could hear… and she did… _twice_.

* * *

Isabel pulled out the pins holding her hair into an elaborate bun, one by one, until she was able to shake her raven waves loose in preparation of what was to come. Once finished, she turned her attention back to Alistair, his eyes still watching her as he waited for her to touch him. She flashed him a grin before dipping her head, tracing her tongue over the length of him, from base to tip.

He groaned her name, a strangled, desperate sound that only spurred her on as she fully took him in her mouth, wrapping her hand around what she couldn't fit between her lips. She built him up, slowly, enjoying the way he panted and gasped as she moved, not even trying to remain quiet, just like she had asked. He twisted his hands in her hair, holding her head steady as he bucked into the warmth of her mouth, rapidly approaching his end.

Isabel would have grinned if she didn't have her mouth full.

Alistair bellowed her name as he reached his peak, and she swallowed every last bit of him, licking up what she initially missed. Satisfied with her work, she climbed back up her husband's body, plopping beside him on the bed with a smile as she watched him catch his breath.

"It's so much better to have help, isn't it," she said, beginning to trail her fingers over his chest.

He let out a breathless laugh, nodding as he opened his eyes and met her gaze. "Oh, I love you," he sighed, his hand coming up to caress her face. Isabel smiled softly at him, rolling onto her side so she could press a kiss to his lips. Alistair slid his hand back into her hair as he deepened it, their simple kiss quickly heating up into something more.

When they broke for air, both of them panting, he kicked his pants and smalls off the rest of his legs before quickly shrugging off his shirt and doublet. She bit her lip and watched as he shed his clothes, admiring the strong and muscular body underneath. He returned to her and she squealed as he grabbed her and flipped her over, his fingers going to the ties of her dress.

After some frustrated mumbling, Alistair was able to unlace the bodice of her dress, his lips kissing a path down her spine as he peeled it off of her. She squirmed beneath him, his beard gently scraping her skin, a stark contrast to the feeling of his warm lips, the sensation sending pleasurable tingles throughout her body. When her dress was completely off, he rolled her back over, amber eyes raking over her bare body until they landed on her smalls.

"You know, love, I wouldn't have put it past you to have been completely naked under that dress," he said, settling over her, his lips finding her neck. Isabel threaded her hand through his hair and giggled, her laugh turning into a moan as he nibbled on her collarbone, her body arching up against his.

"I'll remember that for next time," she breathed, eyes fluttering closed as her husband continued kissing his way down her body. She bit back another moan as he took the peak of her breast into his mouth, his lips and tongue doing the most wonderful things as he teased her other breast with his hand. Isabel pressed herself into the heat of his mouth, her fingers digging into his skin as she grasped him.

When Alistair was thoroughly pleased with the way he worked her up, he kept traveling downward, her stomach quivering as he kissed lower and lower. She watched through half-lidded eyes as he pulled her smalls off, theatrically tossing them across the room. She huffed a laugh, shaking her head and rolling her eyes at the gesture.

He settled onto his stomach, hooking her legs over his shoulders as she closed her eyes and gently ran her fingers through his hair. Isabel squirmed in anticipation as he pressed tender kisses to the inside of her thigh, slowly, _torturously_, kissing upwards towards his final destination.

"Alistair, don't you dare tease me," she breathed, her fingers tightening in his hair, resisting the urge to just _shove_ his face where she wanted it—it wouldn't be the first time she'd done such a thing.

She felt him smile against her skin before pulling away the slightest bit. She shot her eyes open and lifted her head, ready to demand he get back to what he was doing, but she froze as soon as she saw him. His eyes _burned_ into hers, and the sight of him looking at her like _that_ from_between her legs_ set her skin aflame with even more arousal.

"I wouldn't dream of it, love," he murmured, voice husky, before ducking his head and finally pressing his mouth against her.

She moaned his name, unable to keep quiet at the feeling of his tongue and lips moving over her, his fingers soon following. She writhed against him, grinding her hips into his face, her fingers fisting into his hair to keep him there, her other hand twisted in the bed sheets beside her. He worked her into a desperate, mewling frenzy, taking his time to build her up, but never giving her enough to reach her peak.

She was so close, _so close_, and it felt like her skin was on fire, heat coiling in the pit of her stomach. He brought her to the edge and she tumbled over it, her whole body tensing and shuddering as pleasure radiated through her, his name on her lips. Alistair's movements slowly came to a stop, and he planted a gentle kiss to her inner thigh before unhooking her legs from his shoulders and sitting upright.

Isabel fluttered her eyes open, looking past her heaving chest to see him wipe his mouth on the back of his arm. She made a weak little noise at the sight of him, and once again he met her gaze. He lifted his fingers to his mouth, very deliberately licking and sucking them clean, and she watched every movement, swallowing hard. The tables had been effectively turned on her and she _loved_ every minute of it.

"Come here, _now_," she said, and he did as he was told, climbing back up to her and latching his lips onto hers. Maker, she could taste herself on him, and that only re-ignited the intense need she had for him—and all hail Andraste for their Grey Warden stamina, because he was standing at full attention once again. Growling into the kiss, she rolled them over and pinned his wrists to the bed on either side of his head. She trailed her kisses over his jaw and down his neck, then back up again, nibbling on his earlobe. "Sit up," she whispered, teasingly tracing her tongue over the shell of his ear.

She released her grip on him, Alistair sitting up, and as soon as he was ready she climbed over him, straddling his thighs and grabbing his shoulders for support. Isabel bit her lip and gasped, her eyes falling closed as she sank down onto him in one fluid motion. He hissed, his eyes shut tight, fingers digging into her hips hard enough to bruise.

She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his, rolling her hips over his and ripping a loud groan from his throat. A cacophony of moans and grunts filled the room as she began to move atop him, his hips snapping up to meet hers over and over. It wasn't long until they were dangling on the precipice, both so close to the edge.

Alistair lost it first, his face contorting with pleasure as her name left his lips a final time, the sight, sound, and feel of him tumbling over the edge dragging her right along with him. Isabel cried out as she tensed around him, her body trembling as her own pleasure radiated out through her body from her core.

They collapsed into a panting, sweaty heap of tangled limbs, completely spent. Isabel shifted the slightest bit so she could lie on his chest, and Alistair wrapped his arms around her, gently stroking her back as their heartbeats returned to normal.

"Mmm, that was nice," she murmured, nestling into the warmth of his embrace. "That was very, very nice."

"Thanks for the assistance, love," he said with a chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest.

She snorted a laugh. "You're very welcome, _your Majesty_."

Alistair groaned, and she giggled. "You have to stop saying it like _that_."

"Never." She propped her head up on his chest, her eyes landing on his. "It'll give you something to think about the next time you… tend to your needs," she said with a mischievous grin, and he shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"I'm ever going to hear the end of this, am I?"

"Nope."

He sighed, bringing his hand up to caress her face. "You are an evil, evil woman," he said as she leaned into his touch. "But I still love you, nonetheless."

Isabel grinned at him, her heart warming at his words. "I love you, too."


	22. Lazy Morning

**Lazy Morning**

* * *

She wakes to calloused fingers gliding over her bare back, tracing the dip in her spine with feather-light touches before they slide back upwards to begin again. Isabel hums at the pleasant feeling, wondering why her husband is awake at such an hour. She's about to sleepily mumble her question when Alistair presses himself against her, burying his face in her neck as his hand wraps around her body, over her hip and downwards, his fingers finding themselves between her legs.

Her breath hitches, her pulse quickening as he begins to tease her, his fingers slowly starting to build her up as he peppers her neck with lazy kisses. Her fingers curl into her pillow and a low moan escapes her lips, her stomach tightening as she pushes back against his hand. Her entire body is warm, so very warm, her stomach tightening the closer she gets to her release.

Isabel breathes his name as he pushes her over the edge, gently, waves of pleasure rolling through her body, eventually settling in her limbs. Her head buzzes, her thoughts pleasantly muddled as she turns towards Alistair, haphazardly throwing a leg over his, pressing the length of her body against his. His arms wrap around her, his mouth finding hers in a sloppy kiss as he enters her, his groan of pleasure muffled by their kiss.

They move together, slowly rocking their hips against each other, too tired to do much else. It doesn't take long for Alistair to get close, quiet grunts slipping past his lips as his hands grip her tighter. His fingers find their way between them again, their movements jerky and uncoordinated, but it's enough to send her over the edge again after he finishes with an unintelligible moan, his entire body tensing as he thrusts into her a final time.

Neither of them move, content to remain as they are. Isabel sighs, her face nestled into the crook of his neck where his heartbeat races, her eyelids growing heavy.

"We have a meeting with the council," she murmurs against his sweaty skin. "We need to get up." She snuggles closer to him, making no move to even try to get out of bed.

"Council meeting… right," he rumbles, the sound reverberating throughout his chest. Alistair tightens his grip on her, breathing deeply as he nuzzles her hair. "We should… get up… we…"

His voice trails off, replaced by the steady sound of his light snores. She would have laughed had she not fallen back asleep as well.


	23. Making a Statement

**Making a Statement**

* * *

_There isn't enough time._

That was his wife's reasoning as to why she dragged him into a random storage closet just outside the throne room instead of their bedroom. Alistair didn't argue with her; she'd been in a foul mood ever since Eamon had interrupted their breakfast, not so-subtly shifting their topic of conversation towards the lack of a royal heir. When he first started bringing it up, it didn't bother her, and she'd come back with a witty retort about how they were having fun trying to produce an heir night after night.

But, after a while, it wore on her. She stopped making jokes, and if she didn't feel horrible about herself, she'd just get angry at Eamon for bringing it up _again_—as if they wouldn't run through the palace jumping for joy when—_if_—it actually happened. Isabel had put on a pleasant face for Eamon and their subjects while they held court, but Alistair knew her well enough to see past her mask. She was simmering with anger inside, and if letting her drag him into a closet and have her wicked way with him would make her feel better, he'd gladly comply.

Besides, he rather enjoyed their illicit trysts.

When they finished, Isabel let out a contented sigh, nuzzling her face against his neck as he held her close. Alistair allowed himself a smug smile of satisfaction at his wife's change in mood.

"We have to get to the council meeting," she muttered, pressing light kisses to his neck.

He groaned in protest. "I don't want to move."

Isabel snorted a laugh, gently nibbling on his earlobe. "We have to. If we don't show up, Eamon will send the guards to look for us, and you wouldn't want them to find us in such a state, would you?"

"No," he said with a sigh. They disentangled themselves from each other, both fumbling around in the dark closet for their missing clothes. Once everything was back where it was supposed to be, they snuck out of the closet, back into the hallway. Isabel giggled when she saw him, running her fingers through his disheveled hair to rearrange it properly. He did the same to her, tucking stray waves back where they belonged, until they both looked as they did before they found themselves in that closet.  
Well, _almost_ like they did before.

"Um… love?" Alistair started, nervously scratching the back of his head.

"Yes?" she asked, looking up from smoothing out the skirt of her dress.

"You've… got a… blemish…"

Understanding what he was getting at, Isabel grinned mischievously at him. "Where exactly is this… blemish?" He reached out and lightly ran his thumb over the small bruise on the side of her neck, her smile growing wider. "Ooh, that's going to be visible," she said, brushing her hair back like she _wanted_ it to be seen. "Don't worry about it."

"But the meeting—"

"Let them all see it," she interrupted. "It's proof that we're working hard on making that baby they all want to much." Despite the lingering bitterness in her voice, she didn't seem to be getting angry again. In fact she seemed… disappointed? "I only wish I'd made yours just as noticeable," she continued, tugging the collar of his shirt down to reveal his own little love bite. Alistair felt his cheeks heating up, and Isabel shrugged, letting out a sigh. "Oh, well, old habits die hard, I guess." She took his hand and started leading him towards the meeting chamber, his free hand self-consciously making sure his collar was as high as it could get.

When they arrived, Eamon shot them a displeased look that Isabel ignored, holding her head up high as she walked over to her seat. Alistair pulled it out for her and she gracefully sat down before he pushed her in. He sat right by her side, everyone else sitting with him.

"The king and I are sorry to keep you waiting, my lords, we were discussing important business," she said, using the voice he liked to call her "people voice."

Eamon raised an eyebrow at her, his gaze darting down to her neck before returning to her eyes. _Oh, Maker…_ "Anything you would care to share with the rest of us, your Majesty?" he asked, knowing full well she and Alistair hadn't been _discussing_ anything.

Isabel smiled, addressing the members of the council. "Yes, Chancellor, it _is_ something I would like to share," she started. "The king and I are concerned about the reluctance of some members of the human community to accept the new Bann of the Alienage…"

The queen argued her point, with input from Alistair, until the members of the council started to see her way on the issue. She was very good at manipulating the nobles into getting what she wanted. He would have been content to just sit there and watch her work her magic if he didn't have participate himself.

As the meeting continued, some of the other nobles started to notice the bruise on her neck, giving her curious looks while whispering to each other like a flock of gossiping hags. Alistair knew she didn't usually mind hushed conversation about such things, but he could see she was starting to get annoyed by it, and he didn't blame her. She was discussing serious problems Ferelden had to overcome—something their advisors and councilors should have been paying close attention to.

"Lord Dalison, is something the matter?" Isabel called out, the man in question stiffening in his seat. He slowly turned to face her, his gaze not meeting her eyes as he addressed her.

"No, your Majesty."

"Is that so? I could have sworn something drastic must have happened based on the way you and Lord Alington were chattering about." The other man looked just as uncomfortable as Lord Dalison.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, it's just…" The man struggled for words, and Alistair noticed a mischievous glint in his wife's eyes. She was up to something. Normally he loved when she put the nobles in their place, but considering what had started all this… he was afraid of what she had up her sleeve.

"It's just what? You may speak plainly with me, my lord," she prompted, looking the perfect picture of innocence.

"There is… something on your neck…"

Alistair tensed beside her, swallowing hard. _Oh, Maker have mercy…_

"Oh, that," she said, waving her hand dismissively. "That was the result of an accident, don't mind it."

"An accident?" Lord Dalison asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

"You see, the king and I may have gotten just a bit carried away when we were performing our duty to Ferelden earlier," Isabel continued, and Alistair felt his cheeks beginning to burn. Beside him, Eamon sighed, shaking his head, the other nobles' eyebrows shooting up to their hairlines.

"Your… duty?" one of them asked, and he didn't miss the tiny quirk of his wife's lips._Andraste's flaming sword, she wouldn't…_

"Yes," she began, thinly veiling the hostility in her voice. "We've been very diligent in trying to produce that royal heir you're all so concerned about."

The nobles gasped, absolutely appalled, and Alistair slouched in his seat, wishing he were anywhere but in that room. Isabel, on the other hand… she reveled in their reactions.

"Your Majesty!" one of the nobles exclaimed, shooting up from his seat. "I hardly think it's appropriate to speak of such things in this manner!"

She fixed the man with a dangerous glare, and he immediately sat back down. "And I hardly think it's appropriate to be constantly berated with inquiries on whether the king and I have conceived a child yet." She glanced towards Eamon before returning her gaze to the other man. "But, I still seem to be getting that question a lot as of late," she continued. "When I say the king and I are trying, I expect you to take me at my word. Trust me, you will all know when we succeed in producing an heir. Until then, I kindly ask you to keep your inquiries and comments to yourself."

The nobles nodded their agreement, and Alistair sat up a little straighter in his seat, his embarrassment passing. He was impressed; he shouldn't have been, since Isabel had a knack for this sort of thing, but he was. And he was proud of her for taking care of their problem in such a diplomatic way. Knowing her, that entire exchange could have gone down a completely different road that would have resulted in him hiding under the table as red as a tomato, but thankfully, it didn't.

Eamon cleared his throat, drawing everyone's attention to him. "We will take your request under advisement, your Majesty," he said.

"Very good," she said, pleased. Alistair laced his fingers with hers under the table, and she turned to him, smiling. He smiled back, which only made her grin more, until she took a deep breath and tore her gaze from his, focusing back on the task at hand. "In that case, shall we get back to business?"

…

Not a week later, after Eamon brought up the issue of the royal heir _again_, the King and Queen of Ferelden walked into their council meeting brandishing matching love bites on display for all to see. Naturally, the Chancellor didn't utter a word about the royal heir for weeks after that.

Alistair's wife may have been a devious woman, but she sure knew how to get things done.


	24. Doubts

**Doubts**

* * *

It was that time of the day. Isabel's handmaiden helped her waddle back to the royal bedchambers, leaving Alistair to finish up business with their advisors and councilors for the day. With help, she changed into the loose shift she wore to bed, ready to relax for the night. She made sure she used the chamber pot, because Maker knows she would have to go within minutes of getting comfortable. Once everything was taken care of, her handmaiden helped her into bed, propping up pillows until she was comfortable—as comfortable as she was going to get in such a state.

Her husband arrived shortly after, a grin on his face at the sight of her.

"And how is my beautiful wife?" he asked cheerily, and she rolled her eyes at him. She was_huge_, not beautiful, and she was only going to grow larger over the next couple of months. Maker help her.

"I'm tired," she muttered. "And my back hurts from carrying around this baby all day."

"I'm sorry, love," he replied coming over to kneel beside the bed. "Speaking of the little prince or princess… how are you?" He spoke directly to her belly, his hand softly moving over her baby bump. "Are you giving your mother a hard time?"

Isabel snorted, unable to suppress a smile at the sight before her. Alistair already loved their baby so much; he'd loved it fiercely since the day Wynne confirmed she was pregnant. He was constantly fawning over her, and he'd been talking to her belly since before there was even a bump. Sometimes she thought she loved it more than her.

He planted a kiss to her stomach and then to her forehead, before quickly changing out of his finery. He hopped into bed with her, propping his head up right near her belly. He grabbed the fabric of her shift, silently asking if he could move it away, and she nodded, a small smile on her lips. He grinned back and carefully lifted her shift until he exposed her baby bump, resting his free hand atop it, his thumb gently stroking her skin.

Alistair started telling the baby about their day, and how one day he or she would be stuck in meetings and holding court. It warmed Isabel's heart to see him like this, a spark of excitement in his amber eyes as he spoke to their unborn child. She cherished every one of these moments, and couldn't wait to see the look in his eyes the first time he held their child in his arms.

"I'm going to teach you to use a sword," Alistair declared. "And if you can't learn that, then your mother will teach you how to use a bow." He met her gaze, his lips curled into a lopsided grin. "She can take out five men all by herself, without even having to loose an arrow."

Isabel snorted. "Five seems a little excessive."

"Don't listen to her," he said, focusing back on her belly, and she shook her head. The hand softly running over her skin stopped, Alistair's brow furrowing. "What if I _can't_ teach him to use a sword?"

"Then I'll teach him to shoot," she replied warily, noting how he suddenly tensed beside her.

"No, it's not that." He shook his head, pulling his hand from her stomach. "What if… what if I can't teach him to do _anything_?" He sat up, wide eyes meeting hers, and she could see that he was terrified. "Maker, what if I'm a bad father?"

"Alistair, you will be a great father."

"I doubt that," he said with a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his head. "I don't know what it's like to _have_ a father. How am I supposed to _be_ one?"

"And you think that I know how to be a mother just because I had my parents growing up?" She reached for his hand, taking it and placing it back on her stomach, lacing their fingers together. "I spend my days worrying about how fat I'm going to get because of this baby. That's not very motherly of me."

Alistair let out a short laugh. "You're not fat."

"Oh, Maker, you really are blinded by love." He shook his head and she gestured for him to lie back with her, and he did, their conjoined hands still resting on her round stomach. "I've seen you with children, you're a natural," Isabel said, holding his gaze. She smiled softly at him, brushing the back of her fingers down his face. "You are such a good man. You're strong, honorable, loyal, funny… and you have such a big heart. All of this is going to make you a fantastic father."

"You really mean that?" he whispered, hope in his eyes.

"Yes," she replied softly.

"I've always wanted a family, you know that," he murmured. "This is going to be our only chance… I don't want to make a mess of it."

"You won't. And if you do, we'll mess it up together." Isabel sighed, smiling wryly at him. "We killed an archdemon and stopped a Blight. One baby isn't going to take us down."

Alistair chuckled. "You say that now. Just wait until the baby's throwing up on you." She grimaced, and he just laughed at her more. She smacked him and shoved his hand away from her. "Oh, come on, Izzy!"

"Don't touch me," she muttered, shooting him a glare. He didn't listen and leaned over her, pressing a tender kiss to her lips.

"Thank you," he said quietly, quirking his lips up into that lopsided smile that made her heart melt. She tried to stay annoyed with him but he was making that very difficult with that smile and those puppy-dog eyes of his. "I love you." His eyes drifted down to her stomach. "Both of you"

"We love you, too," she grumbled, failing to hide a smile. "Now rub my feet."

"Yes, my queen," he said with a laugh. He went to scoot down to the foot of the bed, and she suddenly felt fluttering in her stomach. Isabel quickly grabbed his wrist and brought his hand to her belly. Alistair gasped when he felt the baby moving around, the biggest grin lighting up his face. "Maker, that will never get old," he breathed.

Alistair settled down beside her, pulling her into his arms as he pressed his chest to her back. He buried his face in the crook of her neck as he held her stomach, humming the lullaby that she'd taught him—the same one her mother used to sing when she was a little girl. Between her exhaustion, the comfort of his embrace, and the soothing sound of his voice, Isabel soon drifted off to sleep, happy and content.


	25. Conversations With Babies

**Conversations With Babies**

* * *

Duncan was usually a good baby. He could sleep just like his father sometimes, napping through the entirety of a council meeting or court session.

But he was still a baby, and like other babies he was prone to crying. And when he cried… he _cried_.

Duncan's screams echoed through the main hall of the palace as Isabel and Alistair held court. Isabel tried to calm him as best as she could, but nothing she did was working, and everyone was quickly growing uncomfortable the longer he cried.

"I'm going to take him out of here," she announced, and Alistair shot up from his throne, his crown almost sliding off his head before he caught it just in time.

"I'll take him," he blurted out, already moving towards her, amber eyes wide with excitement.

"Alistair, I don't think—"

"Please?" he said, turning his puppy-dog eyes on her.

Isabel sighed, making a quick decision to get the crying baby out of the throne room as soon as possible. She knew Alistair wasn't the biggest fan of holding court and that he'd much rather spend time with their son all day… so why not let him take the baby? She could easily handle their subjects without him, and besides, the smile that lit up his face when he held their son always warmed her heart.

She nodded, holding Duncan out for her husband to take. He carefully held the baby in his arms, that wonderful grin spreading across his face. Isabel couldn't help but smile at the sight.

Alistair pressed a quick kiss to her forehead before wandering off with Duncan, all of his focus on the little prince in his arms. She could hear the rumble of his voice as he left the room, her smile growing as he talked to the baby.

Isabel finished holding court alone, seeking out her husband and son when it ended. She found them in their room, Alistair rocking and bouncing the baby in his arms as he softly spoke to him.

"I bet she's concerned with your behavior," he murmured to Duncan, a smile on his lips. "She would say, 'Proper princes don't cry when their Mommy and Daddy hold court.'"

Isabel bit back a laugh at his horrid impression of her. Duncan squealed, his tiny, chubby fingers grasping Alistair's nose. Her husband took Duncan's hand in his own, the baby's fingers curling around his. She smiled as she leaned against the doorway, warmth spreading through her chest. Watching Alistair and Duncan was quickly becoming her favorite thing in the world.

"But don't listen to what your Mommy would say. She can be a bit high-strung sometimes," Alistair continued. "I don't blame you for crying. I would cry if Mommy made me sit through court when I was hungry, too." He chuckled as Duncan excitedly squirmed in his arms. "Can I tell you a secret? Your Mommy already makes me do that.

"I think that Mommy should hold court while we raid the larder for cheese. Are you going to like cheese? Because I like cheese…"

"I'm sure he'll like cheese," Isabel said with a light laugh, entering the room. "He's your son, after all."

Alistair tore his gaze from Duncan and met her eyes, releasing a huff before smiling at her. "I hope he does."

Isabel approached the two, gently brushing away wisps of Duncan's light hair. His big eyes landed on her, a gurgle escaping his lips as he drooled on himself. Both Isabel and Alistair laughed at their son, who promptly started crying again.

"Well, he definitely drools like you do," she pointed out as Alistair handed her the baby. She held him close, cradling his head as she tried to soothe him.

"I don't drool… do I?"

"When you sleep," Isabel said over the crying. "Don't worry, it's sort of cute… as long as you don't drool _on_ me."

Alistair smirked. "Like Duncan's doing right now?"

Isabel grimaced, continuing to rub the baby's back through his cries. "I'm going to feed him before he ruins my dress," she muttered, turning to leave the room.

Alistair caught her arm, pressing a deep kiss to her lips when she turned to face him again. "I love you. Both of you," he breathed, planting a light kiss on Duncan's head. Isabel smiled softly at him, his eyes full of so much love for her and their son.

"We love you, too, Alistair."


	26. Presents and Puppy-Dog Eyes

**Presents and Puppy-Dog Eyes**

This features Isabel and Alistair's son, set a few years or so after the Blight.

* * *

Isabel heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet running down the hallway, and she smiled to herself at the sound. Moments later, little Duncan appeared in the doorway, his hair more unkempt than usual, fancy clothes disheveled and covered in dirt. He pointed at her while looking down the hallway, a set of heavier footsteps quickly approaching.

"You found her!" Alistair shouted as he stepped up behind Duncan. He was in a similar state as their son, garments disarrayed and dirty, short hair sticking out in all directions. She just stared at the two of them with wide eyes, completely shocked at their appearances.

"Mama!" Duncan said, coming up to her with a smile.

"Hello, dearest," she replied. "What happened to you and your father?"

"Duncan wanted to give you a present," her husband said, her gaze drawn to his hands behind his back, likely concealing the gift.

"And did obtaining this present involve rolling around in mud?" she asked, shooting him a glare.

Alistair shot her an apologetic smile, pulling a bouquet of roses from behind his back. "We had some trouble picking them."

Isabel's expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. He went to hand her the flowers when Duncan started tugging on his pants.

"No! Me!" the toddler demanded, and Alistair gave him the flowers with a light chuckle. He excitedly held them up for her, and she kneeled down in front of him, taking the roses. "You like?" he asked, his hazel eyes big and round while he waited for an answer.

Isabel affectionately smiled at her son, cradling the flowers against her chest. "Yes, I like them very much. Thank you, Duncan."

"You welcome!" he said with a pleased little grin. She let out a light laugh, running her fingers though the tangled mop of unruly waves on his head. She pressed a kiss to his forehead before holding her hand out for her husband who helped her up off her knees. She flattened out the skirt of her dress before fixing Duncan with a serious stare.

"We need to get you cleaned up, my little prince," she started, and he whined, wrapping his arms around his father's leg.

"No! Dada said we could play with the puppies," he protested.

"Your father seems to have forgotten that we're receiving the Arl of West Hills and his family today."

"Right," Alistair drawled.

"No! Dada promised!" Duncan started to sniffle, on the verge of a tantrum, and Isabel shot the king a look that read _clean up your mess_.

"Mama's right," Alistair said, lifting their son into his arms. "We can play with the puppies later." He flashed Isabel a quick grin before focusing on their son again. "Unless the Arl's children want to play with the puppies, too…"

"I don't think that's the best idea," she interjected, but it was too late. Duncan's face had already lit up with excitement.

"Yes, it is, right, Duncan?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" he said excitedly, bouncing up and down in his father's arms. The queen shook her head and rolled her eyes, giving Alistair a disapproving look.

"Come ooon, pretty pleeaase," he begged, turning those puppy-dog eyes of his on her.

"Please, Mama, please!" Duncan echoed, giving her the same look. _Maker_, that look would be the death of her.

"All right," she said, surrendering to them. "But you need to get cleaned up right now. _Both_ of you."

With a victorious grin, Alistair hoisted Duncan up over his shoulder and marched away, the toddler's giggles echoing throughout the hallway. Isabel followed behind them, unable to conceal a smile at the sight of her two boys enjoying themselves.

Alistair handed off Duncan to his nanny who ushered the boy into his room to change and get cleaned up. Isabel grabbed her husband's hand and dragged him back to their room, ordering him to take off his clothes. She placed the roses in an empty vase and then found him something new to wear. She tossed the clothes at him, sitting on the edge of the bed as she watched him change.

"You're so good with him," she said with a sigh, appreciatively eyeing his muscular torso before he pulled on his clean shirt. "I like watching you two together. It's… heartwarming."

"Really?" he asked, pausing to meet her gaze with a lopsided smile.

"Yes." She gestured for him to hurry up and he obliged. "It's also very, oh, how do I put it—enticing."

Alistair froze, arching an eyebrow as he turned to face her. "_Enticing_?" Isabel slowly nodded as she stood, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. He stepped up to her, his gaze dropping to her lips before finding her eyes. "Just _how_ enticing?"

"Enticing enough that I want to shoo Duncan away with his nanny and rip your clothes off."

"Oh," he huffed, momentarily stunned at her direct answer.

"Mhm," she continued, moving closer to him, shooting him a sultry look. "If we had the time, I would have my wicked way with you, _your Majesty_." She all but purred his title, and Alistair swallowed hard, wrapping his arms around her waist and tugging her close.

"We still have time," he said, his voice husky. He leaned in for a kiss, but Isabel stopped him, pressing her finger to his lips.

"No, we don't." She pulled her finger away and started to fix his ruffled hair while he blankly blinked at her, registering her rejection. She finished brushing her fingers through his hair, and as if on cue, a knock sounded at the door.

"Your Majesties, the prince is ready," Duncan's nanny called out. "And the Arl has arrived."

"Perfect timing," Isabel chirped as she slid out of Alistair's grasp to answer the door. The poor king was frowning, and she had to suppress an amused grin at his expense. She told Duncan to wait just a moment, and she returned to her husband, standing up on the tips of her toes and bringing her lips to his ear. In a low whisper she described all the naughty little things she'd have done if they weren't needed elsewhere. By the time she finished, a beautiful, crimson blush had crept onto the king's face, all the way up to his ears. "It'll just have to wait for tonight," she mused, and he gulped, nodding in agreement.

Satisfied with his reaction she walked over to Duncan, the toddler lifting his hands up and jumping up and down.

"Up! Up!"

Isabel clicked her tongue against her teeth in a _tsk_ of disapproval. "Little princes greet their guests on their own two feet," she said, holding out her hand. The toddler took it with his own tiny, chubby hand, and the queen led him towards the throne room. She shot Alistair a smirk over her shoulder, his burning gaze meeting hers. "Come, husband, we have guests to greet."


	27. Pup

**Pup**

* * *

It slips out when Isabel and Alistair take some time to spend with their son, watching him play with the mabari in the privacy of their rooms.

Duncan gets a little over excited, running too fast as he chases the dog, and for a brief moment Isabel panics. She envisions him tripping and falling, and the tears that would surely come after. Forcing herself to stay seated and remain composed, she utters a warning, her voice shrill.

"Be careful, Pup."

Her heart constricts in her chest when she processes the words that escaped her lips. Memories spring to the forefront of Isabel's mind; images of blood and death flash before her eyes, screams ring in her ears, echoes of goodbyes that never should have been said replaying in her mind. Her heart pounded against her chest, mouth dry as her breathing falters, and she's _there_ again, suffocating on smoke as her home burns around her.

Alistair jerks her back to the present when his fingers intertwine with hers, and she meets his gaze, concern in his amber eyes. She tries to push those thoughts away, focusing on his touch, his firm grip anchoring her to the present. Her skin tingles, the sensation rippling out from where he rubs the back of her hand with his thumb, a sense of calm settling over her.

The memories pass, and she focuses back on her son, who is thrilled at the nickname. It's "just like Bear," he says, and who doesn't want a nickname like the mabari that was by your parents' side when they saved the world? He's grinning, hazel eyes bright, and she can practically feel the excitement emanating from him. Warmth blooms in her chest at his merriment, and for the first time in years, Isabel starts to associate "Pup" with something joyful.

As time passes, the term becomes a constant in her vocabulary, until the day comes when the nickname slips past Alistair's lips as he ruffles Duncan's hair, praising him at a job well done. Duncan smiles and continues his task, but Alistair freezes, his eyes wide as they land on Isabel's.

A blush tinges his cheeks as he stares at her, afraid that he's crossed an unspoken line, but she just huffs, smiling at her husband as tears well in the corners of her eyes. The affection in his voice when he said the nickname reminds her of the way her father used to say it—with a softness in his eyes, regardless of whether he was scolding or praising her. Isabel knows Alistair loves their son with all his heart, but something about _hearing_ it when he called him "Pup" has her crying.

Alistair embraces her, stroking her hair and gently rubbing her back as tears roll down her cheeks. Fingers curling into his shirt as she holds him tight, her mind drifts to her family once again, and the love they all shared. She has that now, with her own little family, but that doesn't stop her from wishing things had been different. Her parents would have loved her husband and son just as fiercely as they loved her, as she would have given _anything_ to see the smiles on their faces when they met Alistair, or held their grandchild for the first time.

But the only place she'll ever see those smiles is in her imagination.


	28. The Beginning of the End

**The Beginning of the End**

• This takes place shortly before Inquisition begins (Isabel didn't disappear, so she's still in Denerim ruling beside Alistair).  
• The Moira that's mentioned is their daughter who died five years before this takes place (there were complications with the pregnancy–you may be able to figure out from what by reading this–and she died within a week of her birth).

* * *

Isabel couldn't breathe.

She jerked upright, chest tight, her lungs straining for air as her heartbeat raced. She could hear her blood thumping through her veins, her pulse slowing down as she closed her eyes and steadied herself with deep breaths, ignoring the unsettling sensation in the pit of her stomach.

The visions of her nightmare faded away, the stresses and troubles she dealt with every day finding their way to the front of her mind. The Chantry was falling apart, mages and Templars openly fought each other, there was civil war within Orlais, and, to make everything worse, the Grey Wardens had recently disappeared from Ferelden. She didn't know what it meant, but knowing the Wardens and their secrets… it couldn't be good. Thedas was descending into chaos, and she and Alistair had to make sure Ferelden survived the storm. It was no surprise she hadn't been able to sleep as of late.

Isabel opened her eyes at the sound of the blankets rustling, her mabari's heavy weight shifting on the bed as he shuffled up to her. Whining softly, Bear rested his head on her lap, bringing a small smile to her lips as she started to pet him. He whined again, glancing towards her husband's side of the bed, and it was only then that she realized Alistair was awake as well.

She opened her mouth to ask if she had woken him, but immediately shut it when she saw the look on his face. His eyes were wide as he stared at the blankets before him, his mouth hanging open as he took deep breaths—he was recovering from a nightmare as well.

"Alistair," she said softly, reaching out to wipe the sweat from his forehead before gently caressing his face. He leaned into her touch but didn't meet her gaze, and she frowned at his unusual reaction. "You had a nightmare, too?" Nodding, Alistair began to pet Bear, the mabari shifting closer to them both. "What was it about?" she asked, eager to find out what disturbed him so much so she could try to help.

"Was yours like the others you've been having?" he replied, finally meeting her gaze. "Was it darkspawn?"

"Yes," she breathed, brows drawn together as she stared at her husband. "This one was the worst, but… why do you ask?" At her words, Alistair's jaw locked, his entire body tensing as he swallowed hard. "Alistair, what is it?" she whispered, growing uneasy at his behavior.

"I dreamt of darkspawn, too."

At his words, Isabel gasped, her eyes growing wide, heart skipping a beat. Until now, her dreams had been normal nightmares, memories from the Blight twisted into terrifying images, but the nightmare she had just before was… _more_. If Alistair was dreaming of darkspawn as well…

"I could feel them," he stated, jarring her out of her thoughts. "That… _feeling_ we get when they're nearby. It was—"

"Overwhelming," she breathed, cutting him off. "It's like they were everywhere."

"Yes."

"And there were flashes of them… of blood, corruption…"

"Like the dreams we had during the Blight, but without the archdemon…"

Biting her lip, Isabel fought off tears, dread settling in her bones. "We haven't dreamt like this… haven't had the same dream since…" she muttered, her quiet voice unsteady as it became hard to breathe. "It's happening, isn't it?"

Alistair nodded his head once, his nostrils flaring as his pulse visibly thumped in his neck. "It's our Calling."

"It's too soon!" she shot back, releasing a rush of air as her body began to tremble. Her vision swam as tears continued to well in her eyes, her thoughts beginning to race. She felt Alistair's strong hands grab her arms, tugging her towards him and guiding her into his embrace, and she crumpled against him, burying her face in his neck as she grasped him tightly.

"It's been ten years, love. I hoped we would have more time, but…" His voice trailed away as he nestled his head against hers, holding her close and rubbing her back as she sobbed, her chest heaving against him. There were so many questions their imminent death brought up—_How long did they have until they left for the Deep Roads?_ _What would happen to the kingdom in such a time of crisis?_—but her mind kept coming back to a single concern: their son.

"Duncan," she forced out through uneven breaths, pulling her head back to meet Alistair's gaze. "He's only eight! He's too young, we can't leave him yet!"

He opened and closed his mouth, brows drawn together as he tried to find a suitable response. "We… we still have some time…"

"It's just going to get worse," Isabel could barely speak through her rasping breaths, tasting the salty tears that ran down her cheeks, "until we're more darkspawn than we are human. We can't let our son watch us wither away until we're taint-driven husks." Her breathing was frantic, more tears spilling down her cheeks as her chest contracted almost painfully. "We have to do something!"

"What else can we do? The cure—"

"We've been searching for two years, Alistair. _Two years_, and still _nothing_," she whined, hopeless. "And that's not counting our failure of a search before Moira… before she…" Isabel could see the pain on Alistair's face at the mention of their deceased daughter, his lips pressed thin, jaw clenched, as he lifted an unsteady hand to her face. Isabel leaned into his touch and sniffled, trying—and failing—to pull herself together. "If we haven't found a cure by now… we are going to die, be it by wasting away until the taint takes us, or by a darkspawn blade in the Deep Roads." Hearing herself say it, that they were going to _die_, only made the tightness in her chest grow as terror and dread continued to spread through her. Shaking her head, she met Alistair's gaze, seeing the same fear she felt mirrored in his eyes. "I don't want to die… we can't… we're going to leave our little boy all alone," she whimpered, her voice cracking as she began to sob again.

Alistair pulled her into his embrace, rocking her back and forth as she cried, Bear curling up to them with a sad whine. Wrapping her arms tightly around her husband, she felt his chest heaving as well, heard his quiet sobs as he began to cry with her. It broke her heart, but she didn't know how to help.

They had already cheated death once… and she knew they wouldn't be doing it again.


	29. Fifteen Kisses

**Fifteen Kisses**

* * *

_Lips_

He hesitated for just a moment before their mouths had met, his breath grazing over her lips, sending a shiver down her spine. When he finally kissed her it was tentative and wary, and over far too quickly for her liking… but it was still wonderful. She was overwhelmed with that thrilling feeling one got when they kissed their crush for the very first time, her heart beating so loud she that she was sure he could hear it. Their second kiss couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

_Forehead_

She always had the stupidest grin on her face after he kissed her forehead. It was just a simple touch of his lips to her head, but she would always smile like a fool afterwards. He was the first man to ever do such a thing, and it always made her giddy. There had never been any affection between her and her previous suitors, just their mutual desire to have fun, and his simple act of tenderness and care warmed her heart. So she beamed broadly and enjoyed each and every one.

* * *

_Cheek_

He was enjoying a simple conversation with Wynne, when he registered movement out of the corner of his eye. Before he could turn his head to investigate, a pair of familiar lips planted a kiss right on his cheek, the owner of those lips sauntering away as quickly as she had arrived. His fellow Warden shot him a sultry look over her shoulder, and he swallowed hard, feeling his cheeks start to burn. The old mage beside him watched the exchange with a raised eyebrow, only making him blush more. His little minx disappeared into her—no, _their—_tent, and he quickly excused himself before scurrying after her, no doubt falling right into whatever devious plan she cooked up. The woman was absolutely _maddening_, but he couldn't deny her a thing.

* * *

_Nose_

He hated being compared to his brother. He especially hated it when anyone pointed out their almost uncanny resemblance. Those were the times when she pointed out the differences between the two men, physically and otherwise, reassuring him that he wasn't his brother. That in time the people of Ferelden would come to see him as his own man. That they'd see him as she did—honorable, loyal, and a good king. She joked that the only thing he and his brother had in common was their nose, the same nose their father passed down to them. He rolled his eyes and she kissed that royal nose, nuzzling and kissing his face until she made him smile.

* * *

_Back of Hand_

Some nights they were so exhausted that it was all they could do to get themselves to bed. As much as they welcomed sleep, they also feared it, lying in silence while they waited for the inevitable nightmares it would bring. The sleeping draught Wynne made for them helped a bit, but her nightmares were still much worse than his. More often than not she jerked awake, frightened and in tears, her family and the archdemon haunting her dreams. He took her hand in his and brought it up to his mouth, pressing a tender kiss to the back of her hand, meeting her gaze in the dimmed light of their tent. The tiniest of thankful smiles graced her lips, and he knew she understood his silent declaration that he'd be there for her when she awoke. As long as he lived, he'd be there for her, as she was for him.

* * *

_Fingertips_

They'd taken to holding hands while they kept watch at night. She never bothered to hold hands with anyone before, and she marveled over the way he would play with her hands. He traced his fingers over hers and her palms, also pressing little kisses to her fingertips. He always seemed so content to do so, so she let him, satisfied to simply enjoy the contact between the two of them. One day, _she_ ran _her_ fingers over his hands, tracing the lines of his palms and the calluses from years of swordsmanship. _She_ kissed each of his fingertips, and he stared at her with an adoring smile on his handsome face. She finally understood why he'd always been so content to play with her hands.

* * *

_Collarbone_

It was an accident that he even did it in the first place. They snuck away from camp for some time alone, time they spent lip-locked in each other's arms. He had no idea what he was really doing, he just wanted to hear that little sigh she made when he started to kiss her neck, because then he knew she was enjoying herself. He pressed his lips to the skin just below her jaw and was rewarded with that marvelous sound. Spurred on by her reaction, he let his lips travel lower, until he was pressing a tender kiss to her collarbone. She dug her fingernails into his skin and let out a breathy moan, the sound sending tingles down his spine when he realized she'd said _his name _like that. Now that, _that_, was a sound he was determined to hear again.

* * *

_Shoulder_

Getting the king to agree to brush her hair was one of the most worthwhile things she'd ever done. It became a ritual for them; no matter what was going on in the palace, he would take the time to wrestle the tangles from her unruly hair. She sat in front of him with her eyes closed and a smile on her face, enjoying the sensations of the brush bristles and his fingertips ghosting over her scalp and back. When he finished, he gathered her raven waves and placed them over one shoulder, bringing his lips down to her other. He pressed a gentle and affectionate kiss to her shoulder and whispered words of love in her ear. She returned them, and they enjoyed their last few moments of peace together before returning to the outside world.

* * *

_Spine_

_Maker_, she looked wonderful in dresses, but the damned things were _impossible_ to get off in a timely fashion. The back laces were always an awful nuisance, and he was always tempted to just cut right through them until he finally got them open. He peeled the dress off her torso, releasing it past her hips, the offending fabric pooling at her feet. Before she could step out of it, he grabbed her hips and held her still as he slowly and intently kissed up her spine, each press of his lips making her gasp and arch her back. When he reached her neck, he lightly nibbled on her skin, and she let out a content sigh before turning around and setting her sights on undressing _him_.

* * *

_Throat_

He wasn't so sure the king and queen fornicating in a _storage closet_ was the best idea, but he wasn't about to protest. Not when she gave him _that look_, the one that still did funny things to him. She all but shoved him into the closet and slammed the door behind them, her lips immediately claiming his in a passionate kiss. She'd started kissing down the column of his throat when the door suddenly opened, a startled servant gasping at the entangled rulers. She pulled back and flashed him a devious grin, and he blushed, heat creeping into his cheeks. The storage closet was a _horrible_ idea.

* * *

_Stomach_

She swore he loved her stomach more than he loved her. He was constantly fawning over her baby bump while she would lay back and watch with an amused smile. He spoke to their unborn child, an excited spark in his amber eyes as he told the growing baby of all that was in store for him or her when they came into the world. He peppered her belly with kisses, murmuring words of love to both her and the child. He rested his head on her stomach while she combed her fingers through his hair, and he bared his heart to them. He expressed his fears that _something_ would go wrong during the pregnancy, or that he wouldn't be a good father when the time came. They curled up together with her back pressed to his chest, her hands over his on her growing stomach, and she told him that she was scared, too. She had the same fears as he did, but they also looked forward to the same joys, and together they would give their baby the life he or she deserved.

* * *

_Hipbone_

He'd never seen a woman as beautiful as she was. Staring down at her, he was overcome with the sudden urge to press his lips to every spot on her body. He started at the curve of her hip, brushing his lips over her skin, his kiss sending a shiver throughout her. He covered her in warm, loving kisses, trying to show her just how much she meant to him. It was hard for him to put it into words sometimes, a simple "I love you," not enough to describe the enormity of what he felt for her… but when they were together like that, just the two of them, he knew she could feel the magnitude of his love.

* * *

_Outer Thigh_

They collapsed onto the bed, worn out from their pillow fight. The room was a mess, pillows and blankets haphazardly strewn across the floor and furniture. She giggled at the absurdity of the situation, the King and Queen of Ferelden getting into a _pillow fight_, and soon enough he was laughing along with her. He rolled onto his side, almost kicking her in the face in the process, and grabbed her leg, pressing a kiss to her outer thigh, sighing and professing his love for her. She looked down towards her legs and grinned mischievously at him before reaching over and tickling the back of his knee, causing him to twitch and laugh uncontrollably. When they calmed down he maneuvered himself on the bed so he was upright, pulling her into his arms. They had the weight of the country on their shoulders, but at least they could still have a little fun.

* * *

_Inner Thigh_

As he settled between her legs, all his previous resolve fizzled away, gone in the blink of an eye. He had no idea what he was doing, and what if he screwed up? What if she didn't like it, and she decided she never wanted to be with him again? He swallowed hard, trying not to think about all the what if's, and looked up at her, meeting her gaze. She was biting her lip, clearly nervous as well, but there was also a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. Taking a shaky breath, he pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh, unsure if it was to meant to steady him or her. She saw the unspoken worries in his gaze and slowly nodded at him. He nodded back before focusing on the task at hand; he could do this.

* * *

_Pelvic Bone_

She always liked a man who wore armor for a living. They tended to be delightfully muscular under all that metal, and he was no different. The first time she saw him shirtless, she actually stopped in her tracks to admire him, disappointed when he embarrassedly pulled his shirt back on. The man should have been banned from wearing shirts. It didn't matter now, because she had him all to herself and she wasn't going to waste any minute of it—especially when she could make him blush to the tips of his ears. She kissed every defined muscle on that chest and abdomen of his, all the way down to the top of his pelvic bone, until he was thoroughly hot and bothered. Like always, he stopped things before they progressed too far, and she planted one last kiss on his lips before leaving him alone, smiling to herself at a job well done.


	30. Art of War

**Art of War**

Drabble request: Our Muses are being dragged into war but, my muse gets injured and sent home. Once the war finishes, your muse doesn't return.

This is sort of an AU for after the Blight.

* * *

She knew war with Orlais was inevitable. The Blight had greatly weakened Ferelden, and it was ripe for the picking. Orlais had every intention of reclaiming its lost province, legions of its chevaliers marching towards the border.

As soon as they had heard there was to be a war, the palace erupted into a frenzy. The armies were rallied, and as king, Alistair was expected to lead them. Despite protests from their advisors, Isabel had every intention of being by his side. They would fight this war together, just as they had the Blight.

…

She remembered the stories her father told her and Fergus as children about what war was like, but the stories weren't anything like the reality. In the stories, they may have lost some battles, but in the end they won the war. In reality, there was a very good chance they could lose more than just some battles. They could lose the war, lose Ferelden… and lose their heads right along with their country.

They fought for themselves, for each other, and for their people, but just because they were the king and queen, they weren't invulnerable like in the fairytales. They were very much mortal, and they were reminded of that when Isabel was gravely injured in battle.

It wasn't her first near-death experience; there had been plenty for both her and Alistair during the Blight. One would think they would be used to death looming over their heads, but there was something about seeing the person you loved in danger that evoked the same helpless, frightful, and panicked reaction from them every time. And this time was no different.

Once Alistair was assured that she would survive her injuries, he insisted she return to Denerim, where it was safe. Their advisors had been pestering them constantly about having her return to the capitol, in case something should happen to him… _someone_needed to be left to rule the country. Her near-death experience made him agree with their advice, and he pleaded with her to return home.

He said he was scared of losing her, especially since she was already injured, and she could see his fear etched into every line of his face. She knew it would be safer, and she had no intention of dying, but what about him? She was supposed to leave him, just like that? What if something happened to _him_? Isabel knew his personal guards were capable enough, but they weren't _her_.

She didn't want to leave, but she agreed, for his sake, and _for the good of Ferelden_. After an emotional and reluctant goodbye, she was shipped back to Denerim, to heal and await the outcome of the war._  
_

…

Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and the war still raged on. Isabel was a nervous wreck, constantly waiting for updates from the battlefield informing her of her husband's safety. She had never been apart from him for so long under such circumstances, and it was driving her _mad._

Damn the war, damn the Crown, damn it all! She just wanted to run away with him where they could be safe and happy. Alistair would never do such a thing, for he was too honorable and would always do his duty to his country. As should she… after all, it was _f__or the good of Ferelden_.

She threw herself into her role as queen, and kept things in the capitol running for when the war would end and her king would finally return home. It distracted her from her almost frantic, constant state of worrying, but there was still always a small amount of unease settled in the back of her mind. She got used to the days away from her husband, but she still longed for the day he returned home.

…

Isabel knew something had happened when Fergus arrived at the palace. She went to greet him excitedly, because if he had returned to Denerim, the war must have been over, and Alistair would be returning soon as well. One look at the dejected expression on her brother's face had her stopping in her tracks, swallowing hard. Something was wrong.

When he reached her, he grabbed her arms, to steady her or himself, she wasn't sure, and looked into her eyes, slowly shaking his head. She pulled back from him, her breaths coming faster, dread creeping up her spine.

"Isabel," Fergus started, clearly anxious. "I'm sorry… Alistair… he…"

"No," she said, almost shouting. She shook her head, her throat tightening and her chest constricting. This couldn't be happening, it _couldn't_—

"He's dead."

As soon as the words left his mouth, her world crumbled down around her. She couldn't breathe, she was going to throw up, she could barely remain standing… Overcome with grief, she collapsed against her brother, and he held her against his chest as she sobbed and wailed, unable to process anything.

He couldn't be dead! Not after all they had been through together! They had made it through so much, the Blight, ruling Ferelden… this couldn't be it…

Isabel had cheated death so many times, and now it had taken her husband, the man she loved with the entirety of her being. The man she would never see again. She would sleep alone the rest of her life, never to wake up to a warm, comforting embrace again. Never again would he brush her hair, tenderly working the brush through her unruly waves, peppering her shoulders and neck with little kisses when he was done. Never again could she joke with him, tease him and make him blush until his ears were red. Never again would she hear him tell her he loved her, and she could never say it back.

_Alistair was dead_. Her Alistair was dead. He was _gone_.

…

Isabel was numb. She could barely make it through the day without help because she was so paralyzed. She heard the whispers through the palace, that the queen had lost her mind, that she'd had a mental break, and she didn't care. She didn't _care_.

She was back to when her family was slaughtered, shuffling along with no purpose, too dead to the world to do much of anything else. Back then, Alistair had given her a purpose. He helped her through her pain and she through his, and together they stopped the Blight. But he wasn't here now… he was dead.

She wondered if this is what Anora felt like after Cailan had died in battle. In reality it didn't matter, because Anora kept doing her duties as queen, while Isabel only sat in mourning. She should have let Anora keep the throne, then she could have dealt with the war, and her and Alistair could have been off somewhere together, happy and alive.

But, no… Isabel had to go and put Alistair on the throne to prevent Anora from executing him, as if she couldn't convince her to let him live. She'd made so many decisions, during the Blight and afterwards, that were solely to keep him safe, no matter the cost. She'd always believed her choices were _for the good of Ferelden_. The one time she acted _for the good of Ferelden_ and left her husband on the battlefield, he'd ended up dead.

It was ironic, really. She'd done this to herself. She'd put him on the throne to save his life, and in the end, that's what got him killed. _For the good of Ferelden_.

Ferelden could burn for all she cared. The Orlesians were going to win the war, anyway, and when they came they'd kill her, like they killed her king. Maybe then she would finally be with him again.


	31. Dare to Dance

**Dare to Dance**

Based on an AU where the Warden and their companions have to infiltrate a dance party.

* * *

Alistair tugged on the collar of his shirt, feeling as if the damned thing was choking him. He hated everything about his outfit, the itchy mask, the fancy shirt with its ridiculously puffy sleeves, and the trousers that hugged him the wrong way and made him walk funny. He would much rather be in his armor, at camp, not at this stupid masquerade with snobby nobles who would probably arrest or kill him if they found out he was a Grey Warden.

Why was he doing this again? Oh, right… because of _her_.

He hadn't been paying much attention to the three rogues when they started planning the infiltration of this _wonderful_ event. He knew Isabel was excited to finally get out of her armor and into a dress. While he would have wanted to stay by her side (and to see her in a dress, of course), he had no interest whatsoever in going to the party. Strap him up in armor, give him a sword, and send him at darkspawn and he'd do great. Send him to a fancy party? No, no, no… bad things would happen.

But then Zevran had started flirting with her, talking about how much he was going to enjoy dancing with her to blend in with the other partygoers, and his mood had turned sour.

Blend in? _Blend in?_ The elf just wanted an excuse to get his assassin-y hands all over her. The thought of the two of them dancing, Isabel pressed up against him, hissneaky little hands moving to where they shouldn't be… it made him jealous, to say the least. If anyone was going to dance with her, it was going to be _him_—despite the fact that he couldn't dance. That was another issue entirely.

Being the _brilliant_ man he was, Alistair protested their plan and got roped into going to the party himself. It was mostly Isabel's doing, as if she _wanted_ to see him make a complete fool of himself. He never should have opened his mouth.

"Alistair?" At the sound of her voice, he turned around, his jaw dropping when he saw her. Her raven hair wasn't pulled up into the bun she usually wore, and instead it was loose, the waves framing her masked face. Her lips were painted red, and it made him want to kiss them more than he already wanted to. And the dress—it should have been against the law for her to wear something like that. The purple gown fit her _perfectly_, bringing out her green eyes and accentuating every flawless curve of her body.

Maker's breath, she was beautiful.

He was doomed.

"Alistair?" she repeated again, seemingly nervous. Why was _she_ nervous? She grew up going to parties like this. _He_ was the one who had no idea what he was doing.

He promptly shut his mouth and stopped staring—_good job, Alistair, she probably thinks you're a dirty lecher_. "Isabel," he said, sticking to the simplicity of her name, afraid he'd say something stupid.

"Well?" she asked expectantly. "What do you think?"

"About what?"

"My dress!"

"Oh, right," he muttered, nervously scratching the back of his head. "Well, it's purple—a nice purple, too—and I like the little fancy pattern it's got there. It looks more comfortable than my clothes, and…" He stopped talking when he saw her bite her lip, suppressing a laugh.

"You've obviously never worn a dress if you think I'm more comfortable than you."

"No, I've never worn a dress."

"But still… this is much better than wandering around Ferelden in armor," she said cheerfully. Isabel grabbed his hand and started to pull him towards the ballroom where the rest of the guests were. "We have work to do, so let's get to that blending in and start dancing."

He swallowed hard, stopping before they got to the ballroom. "About that…"

"What?" she asked, turning around and quirking an eyebrow at him.

"I… I can't dance."

"Just follow my lead," she said with a stunning smile, dragging him out into the middle of the ballroom. She stepped up to him, taking his hand and placing it on the small of her back, her other hand linking with his. _Maker_, she was so close he could smell the soap she'd used when she bathed before getting ready. Thankfully she started moving before he could really think about her taking a bath, and it forced him to focus on not stepping on her toes.

Which he failed miserably at.

Thankfully, Isabel was used to it, or so she said. After a lot of squished toes and muttered apologies he got the hang of the whole dancing thing. He wasn't very good at it, but at least he wasn't crushing her feet anymore.

"I told you that you'd be able to do it," she said, a small smile on her lips as they twirled around.

"Only because I have a good teacher," he replied, his voice soft. Isabel let out a short laugh and then bit her lip, her expression changing. She looked at him like she did when they were alone, those brilliant eyes gazing right into his. He stared back, unable to look away even if he wanted to.

"You're staring again," she breathed.

"I'm sorry," he muttered. He quickly looked away, wishing he could just disappear.

"Don't be." Her voice was so low that he was surprised he'd heard her over his inner turmoil. He looked back at her, his eyes wide as he processed what her words meant. "You can stare at me whenever you like," she continued. "Though, it would be nice if you'd do more than just stare. You know—"

Alistair didn't let her finish, instead stopping their dance and closing the distance between them, pressing his lips to hers. She was surprised at first, but quickly kissed him back, and_Maker_, it was every bit as satisfying as he'd dreamed. He pulled back and met her gaze, his cheeks starting to burn at his sudden boldness.

"That… that wasn't too soon was it?" he whispered, and she grinned at him.

"_Too soon?_" She laughed. "Maker, Alistair, I've been waiting _forever_ for you to do that!"

"Forever?"

"_Yes_," she breathed, pressing her lips to his again. He curled his arm around her and pulled her closer, completely forgetting they were standing in the middle of a ballroom filled with guests. When they broke apart Isabel let out a content sigh. She disentangled herself from him, lacing her fingers with his before starting to drag him around again.

"Where are we going?" he asked, slightly confused.

"There should be a storage closet around here somewhere," she muttered, leading him into the hallway outside of the ballroom.

"A _storage closet_?"

She stopped in front of a door and whirled around to face him, shooting him a wry smile. "Yes, a storage closet," she said. "Leliana and Zevran can handle things on their own. _We_ have some kissing to catch up on."

She pulled him into the closet and ripped their masks off, her lips finding his in the dark. Maybe fancy parties weren't so bad after all.


	32. The Look

**The Look**

This takes place not too long after "Political Animal" (it might be a good idea to read that one first, but you probably don't have to). Also, I got the names for the random Bann and the women mentioned from a fantasy name generator.

* * *

Music filled the main hall of the palace as Alistair held his wife close, their bodies moving together as they danced. Isabel was smiling, giggles escaping her every time he looked down to make sure he wasn't stepping on her toes—which he wasn't, thanks to the dancing lessons she gave him before their wedding.

Isabel loved the fancy dresses, food, mingling, and dancing that came hand in hand with various royal events. At first, Alistair wanted nothing to do with them, but he was starting to enjoy them more and more… it was hard _not_ to enjoy something when it made his wife so happy.

Just as their dance ended, one of Isabel's ladies-in-waiting approached the royal couple. The woman whispered into his wife's ear, and he watched as her smile faltered the tiniest bit, indicating bad news. With her message delivered, the woman left as quickly as she had arrived.

"What is it, love?" Alistair murmured, stepping closer to her, his fingers brushing over her arm. Glancing at him quickly, Isabel took his hand and led him out of the main crowd, smiling cordially at all the nobles they passed, keeping up her queenly persona until they had a bit of privacy.

"It appears Bann Errett is spreading rumors about me," she stated, lips pursed. Alistair quirked his eyebrow, waiting for her to elaborate. "He's of the belief that I conspired to make you king so I could seduce you and take the throne for myself." His jaw clenched as he frowned, his heartbeat jumping at the accusation.

"That's ridiculous!"

Placing her hand over his heart, she offered him a small smile. "It's fine, Alistair. I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to be," he protested, leaning into her touch when she slid her hand up to cup his face, her thumb gently stroking over his cheek. "If people knew you like I did…"

"You're a good man," she replied, her green eyes roving over his face. "But you know that will never happen. "To them, I am not only a queen, but also a hero. They'll never see me as a regular person that they can simply get to know." Isabel sighed, looking back to the crowd in the main hall before meeting his gaze again. "I'll deal with Errett, and then we can get back to enjoying ourselves."

Isabel pressed a kiss to his cheek and turned to leave, but Alistair caught her arm before she could get away from him. She furrowed her brow as he rubbed his hands up and down her arms before sliding them down to her own, their fingers twining together.

"I want to help."

"I can handle it," she replied. "It will be very easy to get him back in line—nothing drastic, just a few choice words."

"I _know_ you can handle it, but I still want to help," he said, giving her hands a gentle squeeze. "You don't have to do this alone, remember?"

She huffed and her face lit up, her red lips curling into a smile that warmed his heart. "Okay," she breathed, nodding.

Alistair stood up straighter and offered her his arm, and she looped hers through his. "So what's the plan?" he asked, as they returned to the main part of the throne room, maneuvering their way through the crowd.

Isabel held her head higher, smirking as she shot him a sidelong glance. "Well, I just happen to know that Bann Errett has three mistresses, despite the fact that he's a married man."

"Three?!"

"Yes!"

"_Maker_."

"I know." Spotting Errett amongst the other nobles, she changed their trajectory, tugging him along to their target. "His rich, influential wife doesn't know about the mistresses, so if she found out, it wouldn't be good for him. I don't even think the mistresses know about each other, and I doubt they'd be happy to find out they're not the only 'other woman.'" They continued to move towards Bann Errett, Isabel continuing to fill him in on what she knew as they walked.

When they got to the man he bowed in greeting, and they inclined their heads in return. Alistair resisted the urge to rub the back of his neck, his stomach flipping at what they were about to do—he didn't know if it was nerves, or the thrill at giving Errett what he deserved for what he said about his wife… or a little bit of both.

"Your Majesties, what can I do for you?"

"It's come to my attention that you've been saying certain _things_ about my wife… your queen," Alistair stated, fixing the man with a glare. His attempt at intimidation worked, the bann's eyes widening as he looked between the two of them, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat as he swallowed hard.

"My king, I would only ever say good things about your wife!" he insisted, pulling himself together. Alistair resisted the urge to roll his eyes—it wasn't a very kingly thing to do, after all. "The bards tell tales of her beauty and grace, of her heroism during the Blight…"

"And you tell tales about how I supposedly seduced the king into marrying me so I could have the throne," Isabel drawled, unamused.

"I-I…"

"There's no point in denying it, my lord, we have eyes and ears everywhere," she continued. "The king and I do not like to hear about our marriage being treated in such a way." Errett spluttered, unable to get a word out. "We would prefer it if you would cease speaking of such things."

"And you're going to support the new bill we want to pass," Alistair added, the idea popping into his head at the last minute. Isabel looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and while she didn't break character, he could see she was proud of him for his addition. He puffed his chest and grinned, until he cleared his throat, remembering he was supposed to be acting threatening.

Biting back laughter, Isabel turned her attention to Bann Errett. "If you do not do as we say, we'll have no problem telling your wife about your many mistresses."

The color rushed from Errett's face, and Alistair could have sworn he heard the other man whimper. He grew tense, his breaths uneven, as he considered what would happen if they were to reveal that information to his wife.

"My dear husband, do you happen to remember how many there are now?" Isabel asked, as if she didn't know every single skeleton in the man's closet.

"I believe there's three," Alistair simply answered, watching Errett's eyes practically bulge out of his head.

"I do think you're right," Isabel continued, pouting her lip as she looked up and off to the side, feigning deep thought. "Let's see… there's the Lady Natalie, Lady Anissa… hmm…"

"And Lady Clarissa," Alistair chimed in.

"Yes, Lady Clarissa. Thank you, love." Isabel took a step closer to Errett, looking him up and down. "Bann Errett," she began, the man taking a step backwards to get away from her, his eyes darting from side to side for an escape route. Alistair moved next to her, watching for what she did next.

"Y-yes, your M-Majesty," he stammered, finally looking her in the eyes.

"I doubt your wife and these other women would take kindly to finding out about each other, now would they?" Isabel smiled at him—a dangerous smile, this _look_ in her eyes that said she would ruin the man's life if he ever tested her again. Alistair found it terrifying, and it wasn't even directed at him. His stomach tightened, heat coiling in his groin. He swallowed hard, shifting on his feet; apparently he found it more than terrifying…

Focusing back on Errett, he tried to emulate his wife's glare. He didn't know if it actually worked, the other man too busy cowering from her gaze to notice him. With an utterance of agreement and a hasty bow, Bann Errett scurried off into the crowd of nobles.

Laughter burst from Alistair's throat, and he shook his head. "Did you see his face? Maker, I thought he was going to wet himself!"

Isabel snorted a laugh and smiled at him before pressing her lips together. "That two-timing rat deserved every minute of it," she stated, glaring in the direction Errett had run off to. Alistair softly placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her face to meet his gaze, his fingertips trailing down her neck as he dropped his hand. He offered her his arm and she took it, and together they began to walk back to the outskirts of the crowd. "His wife is a good woman, and she deserves better than him, but _of course_ she had to marry him because her parents said so. His mistresses deserve better, too."

"He'll get what's coming to him." Alistair offered her a smile. "At least he won't be saying anything bad about you anymore."

"Yes, that's true," she replied with a light laugh. "I think we scared him off for good."

"It was all you, Izzy," he said, playfully bumping his shoulder to hers.

She bumped him back. "You helped."

"Maybe a little." He stared at her, a silly grin on his face as warmth bloomed in his chest. He was so thankful he'd been able to marry the woman he loved. To be stuck in a loveless marriage… he couldn't even picture it.

"What are you thinking about?" Isabel suddenly asked, narrowing her eyes.

"You… us."

"Oh?"

Alistair huffed, looking down before meeting her gaze. "I can't believe he has _three_ mistresses. I just… I can't even think about the _possibility_ of one, let alone three."

"Well, I wouldn't be doing a very good job of seducing you for the crown if you had mistresses," she joked, a smirk on her lips.

"Trust me, you do a very good job of seducing me," he said, a rush of air leaving his lungs, "even when you're not trying to." He felt himself begin to blush as his mind wandered back to that _look_ she'd given Errett, and was suddenly too hot in the main hall.

Isabel stopped walking and stepped up to him, so, _so_ close, but not close enough for their bodies to touch. Alistair's gaze fell to the décolletage of her dress, and his thoughts shifted, his hands twitching at his side as he resisted the urge to press her flush against him. He opened his mouth to answer her, barely remembering that they were still having a conversation, but he couldn't focus enough to get a response out. He was too busy thinking about that _look_ while he stared down her dress.

"Is that why you're looking at me like you want to peel this dress right off me?" she teased. Alistair snapped his eyes back up to hers, rubbing the back of his neck as he blushed deeper.

"I… uh… it's that _look_, okay?"

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh at him. "What look?"

"That _smile_ you flashed at Bann Errett," he explained, his hands finding her hips. "It was the scariest look I've ever seen, but _Maker's breath_, it's doing things to me."

She burst out into laughter, so loud it attracted the attention of a few people near them, and she covered her mouth, composing herself. "Oh, Alistair, I love you so much," she breathed, resting her hands on his chest.

His answer was to close the distance between them, his lips finding hers in a deep kiss. It was completely inappropriate for the King of Ferelden to kiss his Queen in such a way in public, but damn it all, _he didn't care_. Isabel didn't seem to care much either, humming in delight as her her hands snaked up around his neck, her fingers carding through his hair while she pressed herself closer to him. She nibbled on his lip as she kissed him, drawing out a groan from the back of his throat.

When she pulled back, they were both breathing heavily. Her lips were curled into a devious little smile, and her green eyes were dark as she stared at him hungrily. "What do you say we get out of here? I'm curious to find out exactly what that look does to you," she purred.

Alistair chuckled. "Lead the way, love."


End file.
